Wilderness: The Wild At Heart
by ShoutFinder
Summary: In the depths of the New Zealand bush, along the sweeping black-sanded shores, beneath the branches of elder Kauri, a mysterious force is stirring. Wildcats born free fight to defend their bushland home from Devourers that seek its destruction for their benefit, but they must be careful; a revered ancestor's promise of hope may come with a terrible price none could ever imagine...
1. Chapter One - The Wild At Heart

**A/N: Greetings, all! ShoutFinder here - with another Warriors story for you. It occurred to me one day that many Warriors stories (and my own Arc; if you like my writing, check it out!) are always based where the original arc by Erin Hunter is based. It occurred to me further that no Warriors story appears to take place in New Zealand, the little island-country neighbouring Antarctica at the bottom of the Southern Hemisphere, and my country, too.**

**This story has fictional Clan characters, but non-fictional kittypets/heroes. I have based all the kittypets from real cats who I've encountered, and two of them - Boots and Neo, specifically - are my very own who have the souls of warriors. This is not just a story of what darkness dwells in the New Zealand bush; this is their story. And if you want to find out about the birds you see, look 'em up or ask me in a review.**

**One more thing: 'WildClan' territory is a fantasy made up of real parts of New Zealand. The 'bushland' is inspired by the Fiordlands in the South Island, the 'black-sanded shore' off the coast of Muriwai and the 'Moontree' is Tane Mahuta, the eldest Kauri tree in New Zealand (it's older than Rangitoto - ask or look it up!). I will keep you no more - step into the world of WildClan, into New Zealand itself...**

* * *

**Wilderness**  
**_Book One_**

**Chapter One  
****_-The Wild At Heart-_**

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Twilight fell upon the shrouded valley. The night was young, the stars just shining into existence. Sleepy moonbeams slipped across the heads of the fern-branched trees and the dense, fathomless expanse of evergreen that cloaked the steep slopes of the valley, right down to the sweeping river, a sliver of silver amidst the forest world, the river that reached to the shores that lay only just beyond, the shores of sparkling black sand and unruly sea.

Mist hung low even in the dusk, and the shrouded valley became even mistier, wetter, more mysterious than it had been before. The dying sun rays shone through the knotted tree branches, sliding beneath every tiny finger of fern, every rounded or edged leaf, every patterned flower and brightly-coloured petal, to the soft, dark, damp earth that lay beneath. Tendrils of mist could be seen in these sun rays, and the forest looked even more eerie than before. The valley had drowsed throughout the day, dreaming of the wild, untamed birdsong of saddlebacks and bellbirds, warblers and tui, and all the other endemic flybirds that lived in this untainted piece of ancient land. But now, caressed by starlight, stirred by moonshine, the land was beginning to fully awaken.

An alien booming began to sound in the night. The groundwalkers were stirring, entranced by the darkness and its offerings that lay before them. One by one they shuffled from their knotted dens of root, thorn and low-growing treefern, stepping into the woodland. They called to each other in their strange melodies, the kind that sent shivers up day-creature spines. Incomprehensible shadows, they slipped into the undergrowth in search of the forest's secrets.

The night darkened, aging quickly, and the forest became so black that it was impossible to tell earth from air—and friend from foe. The trees rose high, their branches of ever-living leaves concealing the sky from the dwellers beneath. Only snippets of stars could be seen. But the nocturnal animals were not afraid; they did not need eyes to see their land that had protected and nourished their ancestors for generations beyond measure.

But there was one place in the forest that could always be seen even in the darkest of night—it was a piece of land that was free from the twisted, shrouded murk of the dense woodland that flowered all around it, a sacred hollow for all beings of the valley. It seemed, at first, nothing more than a clearing surrounded by tall earth banks and a lush, grassy knoll—but it was what stood upon the knoll, roots grasping the hillock like the talons of a bird, that was precious. A huge kauri tree stood, old as time, a sentinel of the forest. Its bark was moon-silver, bleached by countless sunrays, lit by countless moonbeams. Its huge boughs were as thick as a pine's trunk, and its body reached up into the sky, higher and higher until its tip could not be seen. It rose higher than any other tree in the forest—its branches seemed to reach right to the stars themselves.

No animal knew how old the kauri was—some believed that the tree was as old as the land. No animal truly understood why the head of the tree could never be seen, or why the thick shroud of mist that hung above the forest never left its twiglets. Not truly. There were speculations, legends, stories...but no hard, cold, solid, believable truth.

But none needed the truth behind its origins. They were content with the kauri's existence, for the kauri was the giver, protector of life, balancer of all things that lived and breathed, guardian of the valley for as long as it stood.

A wind tugged at the kauri's huge boughs, pulling at the countless small green leaves that adorned its fingers. The great trunk itself did not shake—it was far too dense for that—but its limbs shook a little. Even so, the slight movement was enough for the small, slender animal making her way down from the tree's head to dig her claws into the bark with a nervous start and cling on as though frightened the kauri would be blown over.

_The journey up is far easier than the one down,_ she thought darkly.

When the wind passed she carefully retracted her claws, murmuring a swift apology to the tree as she resumed her careful descent to the ground. It was a necessary ritual, to climb this mighty kauri to ascend to the heavens and commune with her ancestors—but she didn't enjoy it. She most certainly didn't enjoy the toll it took on her. She wasn't a warrior, trained in endurance and strength; her neat, quick paws and lean-muscled frame just wasn't built for it, and hadn't been since she had first gulped air. _Then again,_ she thought to herself, _warriors don't have to climb the Moontree to seek the ancestors' guidance. They have me for that...and when my body rests in the Elderferns Grove, they'll have my apprentice._

But she was quick at climbing down. She had climbed the Moontree many times and knew the pathway up and down as well as she knew the colour of her pelt. As she drew nearer towards the ground, the boughs shook less and less as the heads of the trees, growing on the steep banks surrounding the sacred grotto, began to absorb the wind gusts. In the semidarkness, lit only by a half moon that was climbing the star-flecked skies, the young she-cat could make out a smaller figure curled up on the ground, sleeping at the tree's huge roots rising like small mountains through the long knollgrass.

_Poor thing,_ she thought to herself. She had only received her apprentice less than a moon ago. This was her first experience of a visit to the Moontree, and the path to the grotto itself was an exhausting one. It was to no surprise to her that her apprentice had slipped into sleep during her absence.

When she was in leaping distance of the ground, the silver she-cat pushed off from the lowest, broadest bough. For a few heartbeats she freefell, nothing but the air cushioning her stomach—then she twisted, extending her paws, relaxing her limbs, and felt the knollgrass rise up to meet her. Soft and thick, it cushioned her fall. She rolled once to absorb what was left of impact and leapt lightly onto her paws, aching from the climb up and down the huge elder tree. Shaking dew drops from her whiskers and fur, the she-cat padded towards the small brown bundle curled up against the silver roots.

"Kakapopaw," she murmured. The apprentice's eyes fluttered open at the mention of her name and she lifted her head, eyes clouded with fatigue.

In an instant, Kakapopaw was on her feet, her drowsiness gone and body seething with barely-withheld alarm. "Silverfern!" she gasped. "You've returned! Did you receive an important message from the Forest of Stars?"

Silverfern's tailtip flicked, calling for silence. "Hush, young one," she urged, and Kakapopaw fell silent at once. Her eyes were as round and luminous as full moons.

"Our warrior ancestors did indeed smile upon us this night," Silverfern continued in an undertone. Her mind flicked back to her experience in the mist-floored skies where the stars were woodland and the spirits of the dead roamed in an endless hunt. "They passed to me a message that I must bring to Foreststar."

Kakapopaw's eartips drooped. "And not to me?"

"When you ascend to the Moontree's sky boughs, then all messages the Forest of Stars has for WildClan will be your own." Silverfern gave her apprentice a soothing lick over her forehead. "You are young, Kakapopaw, too young to venture into the Forest just yet. But in time, and at mine's end, the realm of the stars will be open to you as it is to I."

Kakapopaw hesitated, and then bowed her head low. "I'm sorry I asked."

"It is forgiven," Silverfern mewed simply. "Ignorance is not a crime. Curiosity is not a sin." The wise medicine cat tilted her head to one side. "But must be tempered with caution." Her tailtip brushed against Kakapopaw's cheek as Silverfern padded past. "I will remind you of a healer's rituals when we return to the Ravine, but in the meantime..." Her countenance darkened. "...stay alert."

"Is...is something wrong?" Kakapopaw's mew wavered.

"Yes." Silverfern looked into the long shadows of the trees beyond, cold and dark. "Our Clan needs us."

**...**

A long, strangled cry silenced the raging battle.

Warriors stopped, claws still raised to strike a blow, jaws still agape in a battle snarl or lunging for a killing bite. They twisted towards the source of the sound, their eyes already stretched wide with the dawning realization, the truth of what they saw.

It was the silence that was the most frightening part of the scene. The ringing, pounding silence.

The huddle of fur was convulsing on the ground, the grass shredded and mangled from its flailing claws. Huge eyes were stretched wide with pain and a silent, terrified plea; scarlet spilled in an endless tide beneath its whiskers and jaw, staining the earth red. It strained to gasp for breath, perhaps to scream again. When it found it couldn't, the terror in its eyes only grew, two huge pools of utter despair and fear.

"No..." A single voice broke through the silence, and then rose to a desperate wail. "_No!_" A sleek shape pushed through the crowd and raced towards the writhing cat on the grass. It paused, staring in total disbelief at the scarlet tide, then whirled on its Clanmates. "_Get Silverfern!_" it screeched. "_Get Silverfern!_"

"It's too late." A huge dark brown tabby tom shouldered his way through the horrified warriors and padded slowly to his despairing Clanmate's side. "He's already on his way to the Forest."

"No!" Grief-stricken, the broken-hearted she-cat sank to her belly beside the dying warrior. His spasms were growing weaker and weaker, his mouth opening and closing senselessly like a landed fish. "I won't let them have him! Someone, please, find Silverfern! Find her!"

"I'm so sorry, Rataflower..." The dark tabby bowed his head.

The she-cat's eyes were round, senseless. Frenzied, she whirled on any living being around her, meeting both eye of Devourer and Clan warrior. "Please," she choked. "Someone...do something..."

The command prompted a furious response from the tabby. His head lifted, his eyes green fire, and he met the gazes of his enemies. They stood still, watching him with malevolence gleaming in their dark, soulless eyes, blood adorning their teeth, splashed on their bristly muzzles. Yet there was triumph in their every tiny movement. They knew they had won this fight.

"You have your small victory," the tabby growled. Anger shook beneath every word—anger mingled with sorrow, the kind that came from failure. "Now get out of here. This fight is over."

He wasn't even sure if the Devourers could understand him. But they blinked at him, their small, numerous bodies quivering. For a long time, the tabby met the gazes of the varied creatures; rats of all sizes, weasels with stone-like jaws, stoats with gleaming pelts and stick-thin bodies, a lone possum with huge bulbous eyes, and an evil-faced ferret, eyes gleaming with more intelligence than the rest of its comrades' heads put together. The heavy, tense silence was broken only by Rataflower's racked sobs.

The possum was the first to turn away. Like a ghost, it slipped into the darkness of the ground-ferns. As one, the rest followed, melting into the gloom of the forest as though their bodies were made of murk. All that remained of the furious fight the Clan had engaged in with the Devourer swarm was tufts of fur, beads of blood, and another dead warrior.

_Too many..._the tabby squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control the whirlwind of emotion that was threatening to overwhelm him as the Devourer swarm had overwhelmed his patrol. _Too many have died, ascended to join the Forest..._

He looked over his shoulder towards where Rataflower stood over the warrior's body. One final spasm racked his body, and then...expression blank, eyes glassy, and the stench of death. Another warrior spirit had stalked away from its living form, treading the time-worn path to the Moontree, to make his climb to the Forest of Stars.

The she-cat stood very still for a long moment, her chest heaving in and out, her eyes as blank as the body's. Then she emitted a dreadful wail, more terrible than any other sound the tabby had ever heard in his life. He flattened his ears to his head in a vain attempt to blot out the sound of raw grief and bowed his head low. One by one, his warriors did the same. Rataflower fell silent once again and shoved her muzzle into the warrior's cooling fur.

"Foreststar."

There was a soft rustling at the edge of the clearing. The tabby turned at the mention of his name to see Silverfern and her young apprentice, Kakapopaw, emerge into the red-splattered clearing. For a moment they stopped, fully appreciating the scene that lay around them—ragged, exhausted and wounded warriors, claws and teeth stained with Devourer blood and pelts smeared with their own, their leader standing in the centre of the battleground with fresh cuts welling on his face and back, and Rataflower lost in her sorrow, her muzzle in the cold, stiff fur of her fallen mate.

"Great Elderfern..." Kakapopaw's words died away. Her eyes were round with barely-concealed horror.

"I'm sorry." Silverfern's eyes were hard and grim. "We were too late."

"The Forest of Stars told you this would happen, didn't they?" Foreststar's words were flat, more statement than question. His expression didn't change when his medicine cat dipped her head, her answer plainly heard with her silence.

Another heavy silence filled the clearing; then, as though realizing her desperate request had finally been fulfilled, Rataflower looked up, eyes blank and unseeing, her grief too great to be expressed with words. Yet somehow they found the dark silver tabby standing quietly at the edge of the clearing. Rataflower blinked dazedly at her.

"He's gone," she choked, her words sticking in her throat. "By the Forest...he's...he's _gone_..."

Those were the last words any WildClan cat heard her say.

**...**

The night was tranquil and deceptively peaceful over the Ravine. Two sheer cliffs of sand and stone lined by an unyielding wall of undergrowth, yet it was open to the sky, to the sunrises and sunsets, to the Forest of Stars. It had been WildClan's home for as long as any long-dead star-flecked ancestor could remember.

Countless generations had been born in the Ravine, grown in safety, nurtured to the posts of responsibility and duty—and countless Clanmates had been laid to rest beneath the stars one final time, to honour the departed spirit and the fallen body before it was taken on its final journey. Too often WildClan warriors sat vigil for their lost Clan brother or sister, but exhausted from their wounds and shocked by the terrible fortune of a defeat, they had only briefly touched noses with their dead Clanmate and retired to their nests. It was all they could do to put one paw in front of the other. The furious battle had taken its toll just as physically on the living as it had emotionally.

Only Rataflower stayed by her mate's side to hold vigil, unmoving, her eyes closed. She suffered too much from her loss to even recognize the pain of bites and scratches. She hadn't said a word since the clearing, and barely seemed to acknowledge her very existence or that of her Clanmates around her. Not two paces beside her, Kakapopaw was gently rubbing mint and rosemary into the dead warrior's fur to mask the scent of death. Her eyes were hollow. It was her first preparation of a body, and she worked with slow, numb, but steady paws.

At the edge of the Ravine near the entrance was a dark shape, thick fur clogging with drying blood and body worn out from the night's battle. His wounds stung, but he ignored the pain. That, at least, could be mended; the loss of another warrior could not, and though his body begged for rest, he knew that he was too troubled to sleep.

He watched with leaf-green eyes as a dark silver tabby emerged from the split in one side of the Ravine, the entrance nearly shrouded by a layer of purple-flowered ivy. She paused by her apprentice's side for only a brief moment, murmuring something in Kakapopaw's ear. She nodded in acknowledgement of whatever instruction had passed between them. The medicine cat dipped her head once and soundlessly padded towards the tunnel that led to the forest beyond. Kakapopaw picked up another pawful of herbs and resumed her task.

Pebbles clacked, disturbed from their ledges by scrabbling claws. Foreststar looked over his shoulder to meet Silverfern's uncompromising gaze. She inclined her head slightly, a simple gesture of respect for her leader, before she seated herself beside him.

"How is Rataflower?" Foreststar asked in a low voice as they turned to look down into the Ravine.

Silverfern's whiskers trembled with her low exhale. "It is too early to tell," she answered softly. "The loss of Rurutail has hit her hard. It may be a long time before she is ever fit to resume her normal duties—if she even recovers from this." She turned grimly to her leader and added, "You know how much they cared for each other."

Foreststar nodded. "They shared the nursery and trained together. They received their true names at the same time, and have been mates for many moons," he reflected. "But surely Rataflower will draw strength in the knowledge that Rurutail walks in the Forest of Stars?"

"With all due respect, you know full well that not all cats of WildClan fully believe in the Forest."

Foreststar gave a short, sharp sigh at this. Belief and faith was a matter that always troubled him most—and what he always wanted to discuss when he _knew_ that he and his medicine cat were alone. He silently rose to his paws and turned meaningfully towards the stretch of forest that swept beyond. Silverfern took the hint and swiftly followed him.

For some time they padded through the misty maze of tree trunks and knotted undergrowth, and then their conversation resumed. The Clan leader mewed curtly, "There is evidence that the Forest of Stars exists. Our ancestors and Clanmates ascend there when they die. You have seen them for yourself, Silverfern!"

"Not all warriors," Silverfern answered calmly. "I see many, but not all." She met Foreststar's gaze in a steady stare and added, "WildClan warriors may choose to believe in the Forest of Stars, or they may not. It is not a crime to follow different paths."

Foreststar scowled at his paws. "But it makes no _sense_," he protested. "Clan leaders receive their true names directly from the Moontree. Medicine cats visit the Moontree even more!"

"And warriors rarely catch but a single glimpse of the Moontree in their lifetime," Silverfern mewed flatly. "I trust only a few to escort me to such a sacred grotto—and even then, I forbid them from following me, and misfortune come to any who heeds not the word of a medicine cat!" She recited the old Clan proverb with an exasperated hiss. "The Moontree is not a spectacle to be visited as a part of patrolling our territory."

"But it should." Foreststar's eyes narrowed in sudden fear. "The Devourers seek to destroy everything we stand for. The Moontree could be in danger..."

"The Moontree is better protected than you'd think," Silverfern told him smartly. "Uncanny magics shield the forest guardian. It doesn't need us; we just need it. The tree is more alive than you give credit for, my leader—and I have no desire to provoke it with unnecessary actions." She held Foreststar's gaze for many long heartbeats before the dark tabby looked away, his medicine cat's arguments shadowing his.

A few tense moments passed before Foreststar ventured warily, "You visited the Moontree tonight, with Kakapopaw, didn't you?"

Silverfern nodded. "Unfortunately, it wasn't just for training."

"So what did they call you for?" Foreststar gazed anxiously at the dark silver tabby. "Did they know that Rurutail was soon to join their number? He was an avid believer of the Forest of Stars, even if Rataflower wasn't..."

"I'm sure that he does," Silverfern assured him softly. They had emerged into a patch of clearing, a small cliff overlooking a section of the forest-swathed valley, their home, in a rolling endless landscape around them. The grass was cold and windswept beneath her paws and she hated the breeze-scorched feel of it, and instinctively she found herself veering towards the large fir tree that grew overlooking the cliff, towards its soft layer of pine needles blanketing its roots.

Following her, Foreststar pressed, "Did they have a message for you?"

Silverfern sighed and stopped, her paws brushing a few fallen fir needles. "I would have imagined that you, out of many other cats in WildClan, would understand the medicine cat code," she mewed dryly.

"I do." Foreststar's green eyes were hard. "But Rurutail died tonight, Silverfern—died because we were too weak." His claws sank into the earth as another storm of emotion buffeted his insides, clawing at his throat. "Rataflower is all but broken, and we are many moons away from having any more apprentices. We are starting to crumble against the Devourers—and if there's anything that we need, more than ever, it's a sign that our ancestors are still watching over us."

Silverfern was silent. Foreststar saw the conflict dancing in her eyes; go against the code or do what was instinctively right? For a few heartbeats, he felt bad he'd put her in such a situation. Silverfern was a gifted medicine cat, perhaps the most gifted—and wisest—that WildClan had had in many generations. But then he thought of Rataflower's grief-stricken face, remembered Rurutail's suffering and the remorseless Devourers that had torn the life from yet another warrior's body, and he knew that he was right.

_Any message...it can be a beacon of hope for our Clanmates._ Foreststar watched Silverfern anxiously.

At long last, the dark grey tabby she-cat dipped her head in weary submission.

"In the Forest," she began quietly, "I was approached by our ancestors...by Dawnwater in particular."

Foreststar's eyes rounded in quiet amazement. He knew that name well—any WildClan cat did. It was Dawnwater who first discovered the Moontree countless generations ago. She was the first WildClan cat to climb the Moontree and discover the Forest of Stars, and who developed the medicine cat code and the role as a place of duty in WildClan. She was WildClan's first-ever, and most legendary, medicine cat.

"She told me many strange things," Silverfern admitted. "She said, _great change is to come over your life as you know it, beginning with the end of a ruru's song._"

"Rurutail's death," Foreststar presumed. Silverfern affirmed with a short, troubled nod. The WildClan leader scowled, "If Dawnwater knew that Rurutail would die, then surely that means she will know the rest of us..."

"If she told us we were going to perish in this war, she would have told me outright," Silverfern argued. "Our ancestors speak to us in cryptic messages only when they know we can change what is to come." Her green eyes grew thoughtful. "She showed me a place in the Forest of Stars," she continued wonderingly. "A clearing, lined with pines, with a big..."

She stiffened, the fur on her face paling in sudden realization. "With a big fir tree," she finished, as her eyes slid up to the shadowed boughs above her head. Foreststar followed her gaze, then looked around.

"There are pines around here. Bristlecone pines. They line the clearing. Silverfern...?"

The medicine cat shot out from beneath the fir tree and halted further out into the clearing. Then she slowly shook her head in bewilderment. "This is the place," she murmured. "I remember it from the Forest..."

Foreststar padded back to her side, his fur prickling. "What does this mean?"

"I'm not sure." Silverfern frowned, the tip of her tail twitching. "Dawnwater told me that this clearing would give me the answers to my question...tell me the message that will change the forest...but..." Her brow furrowed further. "There's nothing here. Nothing but what there always has been and always will be, wind burned grass and trees..."

The WildClan leader frowned. _Dawnwater _must_ have been trying to tell us _something_..._ "Did she tell us to wait for a sign? Is a Forest warrior going to approach us?" _And what's so special about this place?_

Silverfern was as baffled as he. "She told me nothing but to wait for the message..."

It was then that a rushing sound was heard over the heads of distant trees. The pines at the edge of the clearing trembled; the fir's topknot of twiglets shook in a heralding breeze. Silverfern and Foreststar instinctively looked up towards the sky—which, Foreststar noted, was beginning to pale with the coming sunrise—as though expecting a starlit ancestor was going to descend down the fir's shaking branches like it were a Moontree.

But something else much more frightening happened instead.

It came like a lightning bolt—a gale of wind so powerful it burned came roaring over the trees, crashing into the fir. Foreststar yowled in alarm as seeds and grit was blown into his face, and he shut his eyes tight even as his nose and eartips were scalded by the powerful wind. He opened his mouth to cry out but his words were swept away before they'd even left his mouth. The ground swayed and suddenly turned beneath his feet, and a loud _crack_ thrummed in his ears, a _crack_ that sounded as though the very earth itself was breaking apart.

Then there was another, splintering and crackling continuously...then ominously. Foreststar suddenly was engulfed by the unshakable feeling of danger. The wind's roar died down, and for a moment he thought that the storm was over—but realized with growing dismay that it was because whatever the cracking sound was, it was _louder_ than the wind.

He opened his eyes to see a huge shadow blotting out the sky above his head.

With a terrified yowl, Foreststar leapt backwards, acting on total instinct alone. It was what saved him—branches smashed relentlessly on the earth mere inches from his face. Fir needles were torn from the twiglets and strewn across the grass, broken and thorny. The initial _crash_ of the trunk was even louder, accompanied by the blunt breaking and crushing of branches. Vibrations ran beneath Foreststar's paws and he backed up further. Then something swept low, struck him hard and knocked him back even as he felt the earth slipping away beneath his paws...but then he had found his footing again, where the ground was flat and steadier. Fur brushed his flanks and he knew at once that Silverfern was beside him, struggling to clear the danger. The wind's voice came back in full volume...

...and then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. The wind died. The earth ceased in its trembling. One final groan was heard from the fallen tree, and then all was eerily still.

Foreststar blinked the last of the grit from his watering eyes and rubbed his burning nose gingerly with a forefoot. "Silverfern, are you okay?" he choked around his paw. His throat felt raw and swollen.

"Yeah..." The dark silver tabby sounded just as breathless as he. It took Foreststar a few moments to realize that his ribs were aching and his wounds were stinging harder than ever. He winced as he tried to move; his whole body was throbbing, as though he'd jumped from the Starsfall into the pool below.

When his vision cleared, Foreststar was met with a huge cloud of brown-tinged dust slowly rising around a huge murky shadow covering the clearing where heartbeats ago he and Silverfern had been discussing her latest visit to the Forest of Stars. Silverfern stared through the dust, her jaw agape with amazement.

"Great Elderfern," she choked. Her ears were flat against her head, and her entire body was shaking, nose to tailtip.

The dust slowly cleared, and Foreststar was greeted with a spectacle of a sight.

What he felt and heard before had been real—the ground had ripped in two. A huge fissure split the clearing almost in half, from one side of pines to the other. Lying over the newly-opened fissure was the fir tree—tall as an adult lifetree, now lying crushed and broken across the ground, its thick trunk split and scored with long lacerations and cracks. Its upper branches had been thrown right over the edge of the clearing's ridge where it overlooked the valley; the fir's twiglets dangled precariously over seeming nothingness. The giant had been overturned from its very roots—wrenched from the ground, they rose up in the air like strangely deformed plants, earth still desperately clinging onto the thick, twisted black fingers, and a huge raw brown well had been opened up in the area where the roots had been.

"Great Elderfern," Foreststar echoed in disbelief. A single gale had done this?

Silverfern cautiously approached the fir. Fir needles and splinters crackled beneath her paws but she gave no indication it hurt. Her eyes were all for the fallen fir. The fur stood up along her spine, and every movement displayed absolute shock. Foreststar stared after her anxiously, yet restrained the urge to ask her if she was alright. Some deep inner sense, the kind that came of being a WildClan cat, warned him not to speak.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before Silverfern spoke again—all that he knew that by the time she did, the sun was starting to rise over the distant horizons, casting a fierce amber glow over the darkened valley.

"This is the message."

Silverfern turned around to meet Foreststar's gaze with a blank look. "This is what Dawnwater wanted to share with me," she murmured. A dreamy expression flickered across her face. Her eyes seemed to mist over, and she said in a voice no louder than a whisper, "_Before there is peace, the forest will fall; a true son of the wild holds our fate in his paws; a destroyer will rise on war's dark winds; to destroy means life, to be destroyed means our end._"

The tabby she-cat blinked once—her expression cleared and hardened, and she cast one final glance at the fallen fir. "The fir will protect us, or mean our end," she rasped, "just as it has done to us today."

Foreststar blinked, baffled. "_Protect_ us? It nearly killed us!"

"A branch knocked us back as it was falling." Silverfern's tailtip brushed against the edge of the fissure. "I felt the ground fall away beneath me as the fissure widened—and then I wasn't on it anymore, but further away. If not for that branch, you and I would have fallen in and been buried alive."

The WildClan leader was stunned at this revelation. He blinked a few times and struggled to conceive the very thought of falling into darkness, being trapped in a crevasse, earth clogging his nose and mouth and filling his lungs...and the heavy weight in his heart told him that Silverfern was right. That had very nearly become the end of him.

_I can remember now._ Foreststar felt the rushing aches in his legs where the branch had struck. _Silverfern is right..._

"What does this mean?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know." Silverfern's eyes narrowed and she looked up at the sky, growing brighter and brighter as the sun rose and stained the undersides of the low clouds pink. "I will try to make sense of this prophecy, but it may just have to unravel in time, as is the way of many of the messages our ancestors send us." She gave a low sigh, and her breath came out in a misty cloud that rose up to the fading stars. "But the prophecy mentioned a 'true son of the wild'. It tells us two important points of this cat that Dawnwater's omen is referring to. The chosen cat is a tom, and a WildClan kit."

Foreststar's ears flicked forward. _Born in our very Clan?_ "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." Silverfern met her leader's gaze steadily. "Have I ever been wrong?"

"No, you haven't," the dark tabby tom conceded. He looked to the dawn sky—the sun rays were dappling over the river that wound through the valley far below. _Dawnwater..._

"The stars have spoken," Foreststar whispered to the sunrise. "Our lives and survival rests in this true son of the wild, who holds our fate in his paws. We will find him, Dawnwater, and we thank you for giving us this gift of insight, and a champion to protect us."

Silverfern flanked him, but when Foreststar met her gaze, the same thought flashed in their eyes.

_Protect us, or destroy us. Just as the fir had the power to do both, so will this chosen warrior..._


	2. Chapter Two - The Hunters

**A/N: Welcome back, readers! Yes, I missed my deadline, but I promise updates will be weekly, in accordance to my other Warriors novel I'm simultaneously working on, Daughters of the Thorn. Enough of me: thanks for the awesome response for the last chapter, btw, and on we go...**

**Ah: and this is the introduction of my lovely pets who are the heroes of this story. No non-fictional characters in this chapter!**

* * *

**Wilderness**  
**_Book One_**

**Chapter Two  
_-The Hunters-_  
**

* * *

Huge waves pounded the shore in a constant, steady drum. Their roar flared and died in a soothing pattern. High above, gulls screeched and squawked as their long, slender wings rode the swirling pockets of sea wind, and distant clouds rolled and tumbled over a young morning sky, chasing each other over the clear horizon.

Boots liked coming to the shore in the early morning, before the housefolk who lived here emerged and went onto the beach to soak up the sunshine and ride their huge four-legged beasts across the nightblack sand. It was quiet and peaceful, and allowed him to simply enjoy the world that lay around him—the open, endless ocean before him, the sweeping mountainous cliffs covered head to foot in forest behind and the great expanse of black shore on either side of his dark russet flanks.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, drawing in the scents of the sea. It filled his lungs, tingled his tongue; his whiskers shivered in the salt-laden breeze, bearing the traces of seagull smell and washed-up seaweed. It ruffled through his thick fur, already fluffed up against the early morning chill.

A particularly loud screech of a gull encouraged Boots to open his eyes. He looked up; the black-back was sweeping low towards the sea, its big wings beating in the air, screeching a greeting to its fellows circling beyond. Then, his ears caught the sound of a dog's bark. He glanced towards the sound—the dog was with its master far away down the beach, its tail wagging and gaze trained upon a stick its owner held with one paw. Then the stick was thrown and the dog pounded after it, splashing into the surf even as the drowsy tide slowly began to draw the stick away.

Suddenly Boots picked up another sound, familiar; the sound of light paws bounding across the sand, and approaching him. He glanced over his shoulder to see a slender tom racing towards him, slender tail high and eyes gleaming.

"Thought you'd be out here," he mewed upon greeting.

Boots twitched an ear and turned his gaze back to the open sea.

"I don't understand," the tabby went on, seating himself beside Boots without invitation. "What do you find so interesting about the sea?" He snorted, whiskers twitching with disdain. "It's just a giant rippling puddle of salty water. You can't swim in it, you certainly can't _drink_ from it..."

"It soothes the mind," Boots growled, not sparing his companion a glance. "It brings me peace." _From you_, he added in his mind.

Neo shrugged, unconcerned. "Well, I find that the forest brings me more peace than this noisy crashing water," he remarked. The dark tip of his tail twitched twice at his paws. "And anyway, it's _freezing _out here."

"I'm not cold," Boots commented, attempting to restrain a smirk. His fur had naturally been thick and warm, even in greenleaf—Neo's was short, thicker in the colder seasons, thinner in the warmer. It wasn't good at keeping out the cold sea winds. _Probably another reason why Neo has never understood the quiet beauty of the sea or the tranquility of the shore._

Neo rolled his eyes. "Well, _duh_."

"_Duh_ yourself."

"Whatever." Neo jumped to his paws. "I'm going hunting. You keen?"

"Where?" Boots twitched an ear and turned to his housemate, his attention finally caught. While he loved the shore, he loved hunting even more. "The forest, the rock pools, or will we try our luck with the shorebirds?"

"I'm sick of chasing those dumb gulls and splashing for crabs," Neo mewed boredly. His tail flicked to the great green expanse that lay behind shore-founded Twolegplace. "I want to get mice, blackbird, even vole if we're lucky. You know. Forest food."

"You're on." Boots pushed himself onto his big white paws and waved his bushy tail free of sand grains. The old hunting urge was stirring in his veins, energizing his body, focusing his mind, tingling in his toes. He knew that Neo was feeling the same thing; his eyes were just as bright, his body just as alert.

Halfway towards their nest, Boots hesitated. _Should we see if anyone else wants to come?_ He knew that while the others weren't good at it, they were willing to try and catch their first blackbird, and their hunting crouch grew better each day.

"Robbie, and Millie...should we...?"

"Let them sleep," Neo mewed firmly, gaze already trained on the forest-covered horizon. "They'd have been up all night again, enjoying the moonlight. All they do is sleep and yowl, anyway. They're far too noisy for our hunts, and you know full well what Millie thinks of them."

_You're right there,_ Boots agreed. While Robbie and Millie were wonderful talking companions—they had new things to share every day—they made lousy hunting companions. They lacked the patience and discipline a focused hunter needed to creep to and kill their prey. _And Neo, while he may be frustrating at the best of times, could track a mouse right through the woods; and his claws are sharp, his wit even sharper._

"Come on, slug-foot!" The hazel-eyed silver tabby had bounded on ahead, small clouds of sparkling black sand whirling beneath his paws. Boots quickly followed, racing after his housemate as the primal urge that flowed in his veins propelled him forward across the shore.

**...**

The sun was high in the sky and the cicadas bursting into song as the two toms raced up the leaf-littered slopes. They were following a secret hunter's trail that they had made for themselves, a way to enter the huge valley that lay only an hour behind the outskirts of Twolegplace. The only other way was to follow the shore until the estuary, where freshwater stream met salty sea, came into view. Following the estuary upstream would bring them to the valley all the same, but at the bottom instead of in the denser upland forests. That was the way to go for trying to catch trout in the shallows—but to hunt woodland prey, that required the hidden trail.

Boots and Neo had journeyed along this path many times before until they could race along it nonstop and reach the lookout ridge, their stopping point. A small rocky ledge that overlooked the valley, it provided a scenic overview of their hunting grounds. It was in sight, covered in thick, long grass and flanked by a pair of young totara, and Boots slowed down until he was trotting, his steps measured and controlled.

Neo slid to a halt beside him and reached the ridge first. He looked over, his tail twitching in delight. "This view gets me every time," he purred as Boots flanked him.

Boots nodded wordlessly. He loved the brief, near-daily pause at the lookout ridge. The view was spectacular—an endless expanse of dark green, clinging to the sides of tall, rising ridges that formed a sheltered valley where the river ran through. Low mist always hovered over the up-upland areas, though many clouds drifted to the upland sections of the valley.

_It's always been 'the valley',_ Boots thought to himself. No other name seemed to suit it.

Neo gave a quick stretch, his long toned legs matching his even longer body. "So, any area take your fancy?" he inquired, whiskers twitching as he scented the rising breeze.

Boots flicked his gaze over the forest. They'd never really hunted in the forest opposite the river, simply because it took too much effort to get across the wide riverbed to the other side. There were plenty of pickings on this side of the river, the side that the hidden trail started and finished at. He looked straight down the cliff he and Neo were standing on to the big treeferns and forest trees covering the world below. "Down there is good," he mewed.

"Right, then!" Neo turned away from the ridge and Boots swiftly followed him. Both knew this part of the forest like they knew their pelts, for they had hunted here nearly every day for countless moons. "Mouse meat, here we come!"

It didn't take long to find the track that wound safely down from the lookout cliff, and soon the two toms were padding through the thick bush, pawsteps quick and soundless, ears and eyes open and alert, searching intently for signs of prey activity. Cicadas shrieked high above their heads, an endless chirring din, mixed with the melody of the native flybirds.

Boots listened to their varying tunes, labeling each as he heard them. _Warbler...tui...saddleback...tui..._He paused. _Blackbird._ Another few tui songs, and then..._thrush. This is a good hunting spot for the feathered prey._

"You hear that?" he murmured, glancing up at the canopy high above their heads.

Neo paused and listened. "Thrush!" he exclaimed in delight, but taking care to keep his mew low. "Excellent. Sounds like a good one, too."

Boots twitched the tip of his thick, furry tail—the tail that Neo had always envied, along with his bushy coat. "And here I thought we were chasing mice and voles."

"Bah, those can wait." Neo, eyes on the green-dappled branches, slowly padded beneath the trees searching out the thrush. Boots silently paced behind him, ears pricked for the whirring of wings and the warble of their prey.

Dead leaves bent beneath their paws but both took care to keep their pawsteps light, so as not to crack and break them. The leaves trembled slightly just before them as skinks darted for cover, but neither hunter was interested in the small reptilian creatures.

Suddenly they stiffened as though both had simultaneously been turned to ice. They heard the chirr of wings high above their heads, and a shape suddenly whisk between branches. It landed and ruffled brown speckled feathers in the small beam of sunshine it had stopped beneath. _Thrush,_ Boots thought, his whiskers tingling with excitement.

He spared a glance at Neo, who twitched the tip of his tail and jerked it once in a sharp, stopping motion. Boots twitched an ear in response—then both split apart, taking care to remain absolutely silent and keeping to the densest areas of dappled shadow. The din of cicadas was forgotten to them; all senses were solely trained on the single, totally unwary target.

The thrush lingered on its sunlit branch for a few heartbeats, and then fluttered off to another branch a little way away. It was nosing amidst the leaves, looking for flowers or small berries and seeds. Boots paused and gently lowered his body to the leaf litter, senses not shifting from the thrush. With a tree-borne bird, he'd have to follow it until it landed. That was when they could really begin their hunt.

He heard the familiar chirr of wings a second time and quickly set off in pursuit. Like a dappled tabby ghost, Neo followed suit, his pawsteps as silent as a falling leaf.

Time slipped by and the sun slowly rose higher and higher into the sky. Boots lost track of how long he and Neo had been shadowing the thrush, waiting for the perfect chance to strike. All that he was aware of was the steady beating of his heart, pounding in his ears; the tingling in his claws, the adrenalin shooting through his body and setting fire to every sense within him. This was the rush that he loved and craved—the joy of the hunt, the anticipation, the waiting, the following...and then, at the very end, the prize that he had worked so hard to claim.

Suddenly, a chance; the thrush descended from the branches to a small, sloping clearing covered with fallen leaves and long, dark green grass. It had a snail shell in its beak, and it hopped here and there for a few moments, looking for a suitable stone. When it found a small grey rock protruding from the ground, it stopped, satisfied, and began to work cracking the snail shell.

Boots slipped into a tangled clump of ground fern and peered cautiously out from the fronds. Just beyond, body concealed almost perfectly against a leaning treefern, Neo had positioned himself, the shadows playing over his dark striped body. Hazel eyes focused on the thrush, he remained perfectly still, calculating how far he would have to be to reach the bird in a pounce.

Boots imitated him. He needed to get just a little closer to be in range. Paws sifting slowly and silently through the fern shrub, he inched forward, every movement tiny and carefully controlled. His muscles ached a little but he ignored the pain. He'd done this so many times that it was growing more and more natural for him to stalk every day.

Neo was doing almost exactly the same. Keeping his pawsteps light and body close to the dark treefern trunk, the young tabby crept closer and closer towards his prey. The thrush wasn't even bothering to check for danger around it, and constantly tapped its snail against the rock with faintly audible _chacks_.

Then Neo was close enough to pounce. He paused, haunches rocking from side to side. Boots hesitated in the ferns, drawing the same strength into his legs. He leaned forward on his forepaws and unsheathed his claws, his heart racing in his chest. This was it. The big moment of the hunt. One error, and the quarry would escape.

Neo leapt—he had always been a magnificent jumper, and he proved it all again with a leap to envy any rabbit. The thrush trilled an alarm and unfolded its wings. Boots surged forward—this was his moment. The startled thrush had been driven straight towards the fern bush, and had not expected a second predator to explode from the deep green fronds, jaws agape and claws outstretched. It tried to backtrack, to swerve, to duck, but then Boots's big white paws had slammed against its thrashing wings, knocking the dazed bird to the ground. Almost at once Neo was on top of it. His teeth met the bird's neck, and then it was all over.

"Nicely saved, bush-tail!" Neo looked up, eyes still bright with the hunt's exhilaration, but his whiskers were twitching in simple amusement. "For a moment I thought you weren't ready and that I'd taken you by surprise, too!"

"Never," Boots purred, running a tongue delicately over his paws. "I'm _never_ off-guard, not for a single moment." He looked down at the dead thrush, its body and blood still warm. "Nice jump, by the way."

"I'd say the same with your flailing claws and dramatic entrance," Neo mewed lightly, sitting back and swishing his tail from side to side. "Another two-tom kill to add to our record."

Boots looked up at the canopy, to the patches of sky seen between the branches. "Sunhigh," he assessed. "You hungry?"

Neo shrugged. "A little."

"You have first bite," Boots invited, nodding to the thrush. "I'm content to wait. I'm more thirsty than anything else."

Neo shrugged and nuzzled the still, speckled feathers. "Reckon we should save a bit for Rob and Mil?"

"Nah, they'll be stuffed full of their usual slop. Besides, you remember what happened last time." Boots rolled his eyes at the memory. "Squeamish of anything that's foreign to them. Were you there? I can't remember..."

"Of course I was there!" Neo snorted, plucking the thrush's breast with his claws. Bits of shredded feather drifted about in the air. "Why wouldn't I be, to witness a historic event like that? Cats rejecting _real_ cat food." He shook his head. "Mad, the pair of them."

Boots twitched his ears. "They'd have to be, living so close to Puddy and his gang of furballs."

"Mm." Neo's eyes shadowed and his lightheartedness faded a little. "They've grown restless of late."

"It's been a while since we've last exchanged claws." Boots frowned at the grass beneath his paws. "They'll be looking for another fight soon enough."

"Think they're fighting now while we hunt for sport?"

"Hopefully not." Suddenly uneasy, the large black, white and russet-furred tom rose to his paws and paced to and fro. "But we should probably head back, check on them, make sure that they haven't got a new assortment of scratches from Puddy's goons."

Neo gave a small, wistful sigh. "Pity. I was having such fun."

"So was I—but I don't think I could focus on another hunt now that I think about the gang."

"I'm not disagreeing with you, fuzzy face. Let's finish this morsel and get back."

**...**

It was the warm, drowsy afternoon by the time Twolegplace came into view and the valley forest was far behind them. Boots's paws were aching from the long walk but he was content that home was in full view and around them again. The beach was crowded with housefolk, splashing in the seawater, sunning themselves on towels, riding the surf on their slender, brightly-coloured boards, walking their dogs along the shore. Even further down the beach, he even caught sight of Twolegs riding the bigger four-legged beasts, heading towards the giant sand dunes further down.

Soon the soft earth changed to hard concrete and sun-warmed tarmac as he and Neo made their way through the maze of houses and Twoleg roads. Garden fences rose up all around them. Every so often, a shining monster would rumble drowsily along its black paths.

"I'm parched." Neo licked his lips. "Should we swing by our nest...?"

"Robbie has his water bowl outside," Boots frowned. "We've been away from their nest for too long, anyway. Puddy and his goons could be there right now." Though he wanted to quicken his pace, his tired, sore paws protested, and he restrained himself to a light trot. The ground was hot and hard beneath him.

Neo gave a small sigh but didn't protest.

It wasn't too much longer to Robbie's nest; his tall brown fence appeared in sight. Boots briefly quickened his pace to a sprint, gaining energy for the jump. Then he pushed off from the ground, claws reaching for the narrow top. He grasped it and steadied himself, wobbling uneasily. He threw his thick tail out to steady him, though it took a few more heartbeats to steady the fence itself, trembling a little beneath his weight.

Beside him, Neo lithely jumped onto the fence, as graceful as a butterfly. "Jumping still not your strong point, blunder-paws?" he chirruped.

"Go fuzz yourself." Boots turned his attention to the well-kept garden beneath him. The broad, grassy back lawn looked freshly-mown, and out of the way of the sun, two cats rested on the patio near the back door. They looked up at the sound of the voices on the fence, and almost at once they were on their paws, purrs rumbling in their throats.

"Wondered when you two would show up," the lanky ginger tabby called jovially as Boots and Neo jumped down from the fence and into their garden.

"Where've you two been all day?" asked the white she-cat with brown tabby markings, who stood beside the pale ginger tom. Her eyes glittered. "Out in the forest, I presume?"

"You are correct," Neo affirmed, stepping gratefully into the shade with a small sigh. Boots followed suit—it was good to get the hot sun off his dark-furred shoulders.

The ginger tabby wrinkled his nose. "You certainly _smell_ like you've been in the woods."

Boots purred, flicking the tip of his bushy tail. "Rather refreshing, isn't it?" He sat down, the cold ground a relief to his aching paws. "How are the pair of you, anyway?" Remembering the purpose of the visit, he asked, "Have your neighbours been troubling you at all today?"

The she-cat shook her head. "They've kept to themselves. Slept in late, and by that time it was too hot for them to do anything else but sleep." She rolled her eyes. "They're lazier than _we_ are. Rat-hearts, the lot of them."

"Come now, Millie, we've known that fact for a long, long time," Neo quipped, swishing his tail.

Millie narrowed her eyes shrewdly. "That may be so, but no harm in repeating what we know already, Neo."

Neo rolled his eyes. "Whatever satisfies you."

Robbie turned to Boots. "Did you catch anything?" the ginger tom asked.

"Just the one thrush," Boots shrugged. "Not one of our better days."

"But one of our better hunts!" Neo added, flicking Boots's russet flanks with his tailtip. Boots flicked his ear disdainfully in return.

Millie shook her head slowly. "I still don't understand the pair of you—why you hunt at _all_," she mewed in exasperation. "I mean, there's no point in it! You don't even eat the kills half the time, and what you do eat, you could have had a perfectly good and effortless meal from your housefolk!"

"If you understood the hunt, you'd understand the addicting thrill of it," Neo frowned, his mirth momentarily gone. His hazel eyes were hard. He was _always_ serious when it came to the hunt.

Millie wasn't intimidated. "Whenever you head off to try and catch trout or chase after flybirds, off in the valley, you do it just for hunting practice, for sport," she mewed dryly. "You're no better than those wildcats we hear so much about."

Boots frowned, stories of the rumoured wildcats who lived feral and uncontrolled resurfacing to the fore of his mind. "We're not savages."

"Leave them alone," Robbie chided, giving Millie a gentle shove. "They're not hurting or bothering anyone with their hunts."

"They bother _me_," Millie sniffed, eyes flashing over her friends. "They don't act like proper housecats by the way they gallivant off to the woods all the time, hunting birds and eating mice!"

Boots struggled to keep in his frustration. _She doesn't understand,_ he told himself. _She's grown up all her life in a Twoleg nest, always had Twolegs caring for her..._Reminding himself of Millie's past always managed to soothe his anger, whenever she expressed her disdain of hunting. She might never understand the spirit of the hunt, but for Boots, he couldn't imagine a life without it. Neo was one of the few Twoleg-raised housecats who also shared the passion of the hunt, who understood the exhilaration of making a kill, the joy of tasting fresh blood and wild meat.

"Mark my words," Millie mewed, eyeing Boots with a quirked, solemn brow, "you keep up what you're doing, you're going to run into trouble one day—trouble so thick that you can't even claw your way out of it. And I will bet my tail when trouble finds you, it'll have something to do with going off to hunt in the woods every day."

Boots frowned. "Is that a threat I hear?" he asked lightly.

"It's called _foreshadowing_, smart one," Millie retorted curtly; that familiar Millie gleam was back in her eye. Boots knew then the momentarily serious moment had passed.

_Trouble...as if._ He snorted. _More trouble even than Puddy and his lot? I doubt it... Besides, those wildcat stories are just myths, a basket story for kittens..._

"You two look tired," Robbie mewed. His white-tipped tabby tail flicked to the water bowl resting near his cat flap. "Care for a drink?"

"And here I was thinking you'd never ask!" Neo was across the patio and drinking before Boots had even had time to process the question. Robbie and Millie purred their laughter, while Boots just sighed and rolled his eyes.

"That tom can be a cactus at times, if he's really desperate," he muttered to himself, "but show him free fresh water and he turns into a sponge." Raising his voice, he told his housemate, "Hurry about it, would you? And leave some for me, I'm thirsty, too."

"Should've been quicker to react to Rob's kind offer then, thicket fur!" Neo lifted his muzzle from the water bowl, droplets shining off the ends of his whiskers, just long enough to throw the comment at his hunting companion.

Boots rolled his eyes a second time. "Just don't drown yourself while you're at it, slinky whiskers."

"Honestly," Robbie murmured, his gaze slipping between the silver tabby draining his water bowl and the dark-furred tom who crouched before him. "I don't understand _how_ the pair of you manage to get along so well!"

Boots softly chuckled. "It was nowhere near like how it is now than it was at the beginning, Rob."

"I shudder to think," Millie mewed dryly.

Robbie swept a tail up to the sky. "It's a hot greenleaf afternoon," he mewed, "and we don't exactly have any immediate plans. Why not tell us one of your old stories, back when the both of you were still getting used to each other?"

Millie suddenly purred. "Yes, tell us again about the momentous day you and 'slinky whiskers' met for the first time."

Boots nodded matter-of-factly. That was a day he was never going to forget, not in a million years. He settled down—taking _great_ care to wrap his magnificent fluffy tail closely around his paws _and_ in his full view—then thought back and recounted the story for his friends' pleasure, as the hot greenleaf sun slowly wound its way across the deep blue sky.


	3. Chapter Three - When Darkness Falls

**Wilderness**  
**_Book One_**

**Chapter Three  
_-When Darkness Falls-_  
**

* * *

The Young Female had taken out her songmaker again. Boots recognized the creature's soft plucked whispers and peered out from beneath the leafy hedge he had been resting beneath.

Sure enough, the Young Female was standing on the sunlit verandah, the dark brown songmaker propped on her shoulder. The shine caught on its smooth wood, the dark holes on either side of its four long, stiff hairs stretching from its scrolled head to its broad base. Boots pricked his ears as the creature's separated, long slender leg brushed slowly against the songmaker's hairs and it began to warble its curious melody. The sound was clear and beautiful, melodic as a bird's tune.

Boots didn't know terribly much about the songmaker—all that he knew about it was that it was the only creature he knew that had a detachable leg. The Young Female held it in one paw, her right paw, and brushed the leg across the songmaker's four hairs; sometimes one at a time, sometimes two at a time, sometimes all of them at once, or not at all and she'd use her paw to pull at the hairs instead. She held the creature's neck with her other paw and pressed her toes down on the hairs, perfectly synchronized with the movements of her other paw.

_It looks so complex,_ he thought, _and yet she and the songmaker make the most incredible melodies together..._

He enjoyed listening to her. It helped him relax—a particularly vigorous hunting session that day had left his paws aching and claws as sore as the rest of him. He'd planned on spending the afternoon sleeping in the shade of the hedge, but listening to the songmaker suddenly appealed more to him than dreams did.

After a moment, the Young Female propped the songmaker more securely on her shoulder and raised her right paw and the creature's leg dramatically. Then she began to pull and push the leg across the creature's hairs, pressing and releasing periodically. The songmaker's strange song filled the air and Boots closed his eyes in pleasure.

The song went on and on. Boots rested his chin over his forepaws. This was a good one, the Young Female and the songmaker were making. It always made him think of the elements, fire, wind, rain and earth..._and of the forest, in particular._

"Ah...this one. I like this one."

"Shh," Boots growled without opening his eyes.

"Sorry." There was a soft crunch of grass beside him. Boots opened one eye to see his silver tabby housemate settled in the grass near the hedge, hazel eyes trained on the verandah where the Young Female was standing. "But I do like this one."

"I know." Boots closed his eye again.

The last few notes of the songmaker fell to silence. Neo gave a contented sigh. "Ahh...that one never fails to inspire me to hunt."

Boots twitched an ear. "We just _went_ hunting today, smart one."

"I haven't forgotten, bush-tail. But that song...makes me want to do _more_ hunting." Neo flicked his tailtip restlessly. "To catch something for our lovely musical Twoleg. She's always impressed whatever prey we put near the door."

"The Oldest Male isn't so much," Boots murmured, recollecting the time he'd managed to uncover a fish washed up in the rock pools, drag it across the sand and back home without a challenge. The Oldest Male's reaction had been...less than pleasant. _Was it because I left it in the sun for a few days before he found it?_

"I warned you," Neo chided, clearly thinking upon the same memory—only his whiskers were twitching in amusement. "I _told_ you to put it straight in the Youngest Female's room—but did you?"

"She doesn't like preyfood being put on her bed." Boots's ears pricked as he heard the songmaker burst into melody again—a different and more haunting tune, but one that he loved to listen to nonetheless. "Last time we did that, she clawed our ears and scowled at us."

"But she forgave us, as she always does," Neo purred.

Boots allowed his senses to drift and his breathing to deepen, drowsiness creeping through his body at last.

"Oh, come on, lazybones!" A cold nose abruptly poked into Boots's fur, jolting him upright. "Don't waste away the perfectly good afternoon! Let's go for a walk, or something!"

Boots glowered at Neo. "I'd prefer the _or something_," he growled.

Neo dismissively twitched an ear. "So you're tired. So what? The day's bright and jovial, and we ought to be as well." He flicked the tip of his tail against Boots's ear, and the black tom spat irritably and shook his head. "Stop being grumpy, furry flanks. Let's get up and see what there's to be had in the rock pools!"

"I'm tired," Boots hissed. He jerked his chin pointedly at the Youngest Female and the songmaker. "Besides, I want to listen..."

"She does it every day, dustball." Neo jumped lightly onto his paws. "Come on, it's low tide. Let's see if we can find some crabs!"

Boots groaned. "Just the other day, you had no interest for crab-fishing!"

"Yeah, well, that was the other day, wasn't it?" Neo retorted brightly. "And today, there's nothing I'd like more than splashing around salty rock pools to look for shrimp!" He tipped his head to one side. "Now, let's go."

_Persistent, aren't you?_ "Go on ahead, I'll wait here," Boots mumbled, drowsiness tugging at his eyelids.

"I wasn't asking." Neo's teeth lightly met Boots's eartip, and the tabby, amusement flashing in his eyes, effortlessly avoided the countering backlash. "You know very well that I'm not going to leave until you agree with me. I did this as a kit, and I still haven't grown out of it."

"You _are_ a kit," Boots grumbled. He wanted to _sleep_. Why couldn't Neo go and bother some other cat? _Like Puddy? Like to see how you go about convincing _that_ surly son-of-a-furball..._

"And _you_ are the laziest tomcat besides Rob." The teeth returned to the eartip; sharper than before. Boots stifled a pained hiss and glowered blackly at the silver tabby, who returned his dark gaze cheerfully. "If I have to bite you again, I swear I'm going to take a bit of your ear with me."

_Oh, for furballs' sake..._ Boots, with a sigh, heaved himself to his paws.

"There we go, russet bum!" Neo waved his tail to and fro, suddenly as excited as a kit promised a treat. "Come on, let's go, let's go! I can almost taste the shrimp right now!" He led Boots across the garden towards the fence, and further beyond, the black-sanded shore. "Maybe afterwards we could wade out into the mud flats and see if any fish have been washed up, or go to the sand dunes and try and take some gulls by surprise...oh, no, we should have a dog chase! I'm sure there'll be those weird short-legged low-bellied yappers somewhere along the shore today..."

Boots let Neo talk. Frankly, he was too weary to care—but when Neo was in a mood such as this, it was impossible to try and get him to leave without his way. But there was one thing that Neo was good at—keeping himself and his housemate making the most of every day.

_I suppose he does have a point... _Shaking out the stiffness in his paws, Boots looked up at the cloudless sky, the hot greenleaf sun bearing down on his shoulders, and the huge, seemingly endless expanse of rolling ocean and sweeping black sand. In the horizon he could make out the line that was the rock pools, the collection of time-worn stones scattered around the banks of the valley river estuary. He thought about the high tide, what treasures from the sea it could have brought...

_Oh well._ Boots fell into step alongside Neo. _I suppose there are worse ways to spend an afternoon..._

**...**

"Hey, slinky whiskers! Here's a good one..."

Boots paced around a deep pool. It was filled with salty water, so deep he could hardly see the bottom, the edges lined with baby mussels and clinging, slimy algae. He thought he could see movement flashing within, faint sun beams reflecting off a minute body. Even smaller ripples occasionally danced across the surface.

Neo bounded over from a few tidepools away and smoothly landed on the bank opposite Boots. He peered into the water's depths, and after a moment his ears flicked forward in excitement. "You could be right..."

Boots pressed his belly to the slippery rock beneath him, claws coming out with exhilaration. "Shall we try our luck?"

Neo nodded and adjusted his position so his shadow didn't fall over the pool. "A single mouthful of shrimp and I'll be satisfied," he whispered, whiskers trembling, tailtip whisking across the damp stone.

_So will I._ For a moment, Boots recalled the sweet, tangy taste of fresh tidepool shrimp. It was an explosion of flavour from the sea, a mere tease of the offerings the unending ocean had to offer. He leaned tentatively towards the edge of the pool, trying to see the inhabitants lurking within. His nametag hovered over the water, glinting in the bright afternoon sun.

"Patience," Neo hissed, tail brushing sharply against Boots's flanks.

Boots drew back, whiskers twitching. "You've finally learned that virtue, then?"

Neo shrugged. "You know full well I'm a _completely_ different cat when I'm in the hunt," he replied tartly.

"Sure you are." Boots pointedly brushed Neo's haunches with the tip of his bushy tail. The tabby jumped at the touch, stared at the tail, then at its owner.

"That's not fair," the silver tom pouted enviously.

"Life isn't fair." Boots turned his attention back to the pool. "You go first, or shall I?"

"Oh, you go first," Neo murmured, hazel eyes flashing. "I want to see if you fall in or not."

"Please," Boots scoffed. "Since when have I fallen into a tidepool hunting shrimp?"

Neo didn't reply; his eyes merely shone with anticipation. Boots frowned, a sudden suspicion seizing him. "I swear, Neo, if you push me into the tidepool while I'm hooking out a shrimp I am going to shred your fur so much you won't be afraid of being ripped by Puddy anymore."

"Now why would I do such a thing?" Neo's hazel gaze widened with innocence, though Boots still had his suspicion. Neo was a full-grown tom with the heart and soul of a three-moon-old kit. _At least he's grown out of biting my tail...I think..._

"I've warned you," Boots growled, before he turned his attention to the rock pool at his paws.

He and Neo had arrived at the rock pools barely an hour after they'd left their garden. It was verging on evening now, and the air was steadily growing cooler, the beach more deserted as Twolegs returned to their nests and rode their large long-legged beasts back across the shore. They'd had a good time bounding from pool to pool, hunting for tide-trapped and occasionally drinking from the estuary. This would probably be their last pool hunt before they'd call it a day and return to their garden.

_Let's see if my fishing skills are still sharp...it's been a week since I've last tried splashing about in the water._ Boots frowned into the murky depths, keeping his body perfectly still. The wind sliced through his thick fur and stung his skin but he ignored it. Keeping his claws out, he slowly raised his favoured forepaw, his right, and tensely waited for the right moment.

He let a few pass beneath his nose. He tested his reaction time at the sight of them by jerking his paw suddenly, but being careful not to let his toes touch the surface of the pool. When he felt his reflexes were satisfactory, he tensed his body and sharpened his focus, tensely waiting for the next flash.

It came barely a heartbeat later—instantly Boots shot his paw into the water, his claws flailing in the murk. He twisted to the side a little and hooked up a squirming shrimp, throwing it onto the stone, which he quickly grasped in his teeth. He allowed himself a small, satisfied purr. _Guess my fishing hasn't quite gone out the window yet..._

"That's a fat one," Neo noted approvingly. "That'll fill you up."

Boots nodded, whiskers twitching and tongue curling at the overwhelming taste of salt coming off the squirming shrimp's see-through body. "Pity you let me go first."

"Pity you never ate it." Quick as a blink, Neo's forepaws slammed against Boots's ruff. The black tom only had time to emit a startled hiss before he crashed into the rock pool.

Icy cold soaked his fur and stung his eyes. He spat out a mouthful of seawater, losing the shrimp he'd caught in the process. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, Boots floundered for a few moments, trying to find which way was up. Thrashing furiously, he felt himself rising, and suddenly air, not water, was slapping at his face. He drew in a mouthful to fill his lungs and coughed excess water from his throat. Nearby, he could hear Neo laughing.

"I said I wouldn't push you in while you were hooking out the shrimp—not after you'd caught it!"

Boots opened his eyes and blinked away the salt crystals. He twisted around in the water until he could see the bank he had been standing on, relatively dry, heartbeats ago. Neo was still where he was, purring his whiskers off—but the silver tabby's laugh faltered slightly when he met Boots's thunderous glare.

"My threat still applies," the soaked tom snarled, kicking his way to shore.

"Yikes!" Neo sprang away from the pool. "Better get out of here." He had only taken a few paces by the time Boots hooked his claws into the rough rock around the pool's edges and heaved himself out of the tidepool, freezing, drenched to the skin and swearing vengeance.

"You slinky-whiskered piece of _gull dung!_"

Neo waved his tail. "Catch ya later, trickster-hater!" He hared away across the shore with a vengeful sodden black, white and russet-flanked tom pounding after him.

**...**

The Twolegs were gazing at the glowing, noisy box; its strange background sounds—the box made even more noises than the songmaker—was familiar and soothing to Boots. He slouched nearby beside their couch, rasping his tongue continuously through his thick, salt-tangled fur.

_I'm going to kill Neo for this._ The thought kept Boots going, kept him rasping his aching tongue through his stiff, matted pelt. _I'm seriously going to kill him._

The walk (or run) back to his housefolk's nest had dried off his fur quickly enough, but the salt crystals still remained tangled in his fur down to the skin. He itched—badly—and knew the only way he'd get rid of the salt was to lick it out. He'd been at this for hours, progressing steadily down from his shoulder to his belly to his back and haunches (the Eldest Female, mate to the Oldest Male, had helped clean his face, though uncomfortably) until finally, he was almost done, running his tongue through his bushy tail until it came away clean of salt.

His throat ached, parched and scratched, and his stomach hurt even more from so much salt ingestion. Several times he'd had to break off and relieve his parched body with several mouthfuls of tapwater from his own water bowl before being able to continue.

_I'm going to find that lousy son-of-a-furball...I'm going to rip his ears... _Boots felt a soft growl rumbling in his sore throat as he tugged at a particularly stubborn tangle near the tip of his tail.

It was at that moment that there was a soft _tap-tap-tap_ at the window. The Youngest Female was the first to react—she jumped off from the sofa and headed towards the kitchen window. Boots glanced over his shoulder, disturbed by the sudden movement, and felt the growl in his throat grow louder when he saw who was sitting expectantly at the windowsill, blinking imploringly to be let in.

Boots lashed his tail. _Don't let him in. Don't let him in._

The Youngest Female let Neo in.

_Wonderful._ Boots turned back to his tail, ears flat against his head to try and drown out the sound of his housemate's paws pattering across the smooth wooden floor.

"Hello, Boots!" Neo purred brightly, pausing a safe distance from the furry black mass slouched near the sofa. Boots slowly paused in his work and raised his head, fixing Neo with a deathly glare.

"Get away from me."

Neo's purr faltered a little. "It's that bad?"

"It's terrible." Boots lashed his tail across the floor. "For you, cleaning your pelt isn't such a huge chore. For _me_, it is. My entire evening's gone, thanks to your stupid little _stunt!_" He spat the word and Neo flinched, flattening his ears.

"Furballs...I didn't realize..." Neo sighed and straightened up. "Well, I suppose a simple apology isn't going to make it up?"

Boots gave a dry laugh. "Far from it." He went back to washing his tail.

"Do you need any help?" He heard Neo's paws pad tentatively towards him.

"No," he growled, without looking up. The tabby's pawsteps ceased at once. "I've managed to clean myself. The Twolegs helped clean me. The Youngest Female even helped clean my back with the brush. The Eldest Female cleaned my face, the one place where my tongue _can't_ reach. Now my tail's almost groomed, and when it is, _then_ I can relax."

Boots jerked his head up as a thought came to him. "And where were you all evening? You missed dinner—_again_. The housefolk aren't overly pleased with you."

Neo twitched his eartip. "I don't give a furball what my Twolegs think," he mewed dismissively. "They're a family who's there for me, but not our masters. We look after ourselves, remember?"

"I guess." Boots turned his attention back to grooming the salty knot in his tail. "Still, you hurt their feelings by not showing up."

"I don't know..." Neo shrugged, tail whisking over the floor. "I'm just not that kind of cat, I guess. And it's not a bad thing," he added quickly, seeing Boots pause meaningfully in his grooming. "I just prefer to do things my own way, but stay around for those who need me."

"Your Twolegs need you more than you think."

"Be that as it may..." Neo's tail swished more quickly. "I was out, to have you know. Checking up on the neighbourhood housecats." His eyes narrowed. "I heard only a few hours ago that Puddy's gang is on the move. Bullying and beating any feline they come across."

Boots's attention snapped up at this. "Is anyone hurt?"

"Not to my knowledge." Neo frowned. "Robbie and Jess made sure that everyone was indoors tonight. They even went nest to nest, sticking heads into cat flaps...that sort of thing."

"Jess?" Boots echoed, his heart skipping a beat. He rolled onto his paws and stood up at the sound of her name. "Is she okay?"

Neo, whiskers twitching, rolled his eyes. They glinted with amusement. "She's _fine_, lovebird," he mewed. "She can look after herself a good deal better than you'd think."

"I'm not saying she's defenseless..." Boots shifted his paws uncomfortably. "But I don't like the thought of her being out in the dark all on her own, with Puddy's ruffians roaming the streets at this hour."

"Oh, and you weren't worried about _me_ being out in the dark all on my own?" Neo's voice was filled with pretense hurt.

Boots gave a short, impatient growl at him. "To start with, you weren't alone if you were with Robbie and Jess," he growled—he felt a twinge in his gut just _saying_ her name. "And the second thing is that you can actually hold your own against Puddy's thugs. Jess's smart, witty..." _Beautiful_, added a voice in his mind. "...but she's not a fighter anymore than Millie's a hunter."

Neo twitched an ear. "Millie's actually rather good at hunting—her claws are sharper than a dog's bite. She just never wants to do it. I _do _get your point, fuzz-fur, but you need to get mine. Jess. Is. _Fine_."

"Good." Boots glanced at the nearest window, his gaze travelling up to the night sky beyond. The moon was out, the sky clear, the stars twinkling against their dark blue setting. "Now I can rest easy."

A low chuckle sounded behind him. "You speak as if she's your _sister_," Neo purred, his fur brushing Boots's flanks. He paused. "And you never know, she very well could be; after all, she's wildborn, like you." He pushed on quickly before Boots could growl an angry retort. "Why don't you just express your feelings for her?"

The former frustration at unwanted nostalgia quickly vanished, and Boots flattened his ears in shock. "What? Are you _mad?_ Tell her how I feel? She'd laugh at me!"

Neo shrugged. "And I'm laughing at you. No harm in trying, old friend."

"I'm not old," Boots replied automatically.

"You're two years older than me, so technically that makes you old."

Neo had a point, for once. For that argument. Not the one he'd brought up before. "I can't tell Jess how I feel," Boots muttered, curling his thick tail around his paws. He'd almost forgotten the knot at the end of it. All he could think about was Jess's beautiful pale golden eyes the colour of a morning sun ray, her fur as pale as ash and sleek as stream water...

"Snap out of your fantasy, dream tom." Neo's tabby tail flashed abruptly in front of Boots's muzzle, causing the black tom to spit with surprise and scrabble backwards. Purring, Neo lowered his tail and mewed, "Go on, go tell her. She'll love to hear your voice, just as much as she'd love to hear what you have to say to her."

"What, now?" Boots felt moisture bead on his paws and collect on his nose.

"_Yes_, now." Neo was fighting back laughter at the expression swiftly working its way across Boots's face. "Come on, you're black as the night and the white and russet on you can hardly be seen in the darkness. Plus, you're a better fighter than I'll ever be. And it's _exactly_ what Jess needs—a brave, strong warrior prancing through the night, there to protect her from the evil fiends..."

"Shut up," Boots growled, but his heart was pounding so fast in his throat. _I'm not ready. I'm not ready. I'm not..._

"You're ready." Neo's forehead shoved against Boots's flanks, forcing the black tom onto his paws. "Now, go get 'em, tiger!" The tabby's voice softened to a purr. "Go get _her_, I mean."

"Shut up," Boots repeated, but without the irritation that had been present the first time. Perhaps Neo was right. He should go and tell Jess how he felt. He'd been mooning over her for long enough. Resolve hardening, he strode towards the window which the Youngest Female had conveniently left open. The night scents were flowing into the kitchen area, tingling his whiskers and setting the old rush through his veins...

_No, I'm not here to hunt._ Boots jumped onto the sill and paused. _Not prey, at least..._

He glanced back, for a moment unsure. Neo stood just a little way off beneath the breakfast bar, hazel eyes blinking silent encouragement. Determined not to appear scared in front of his (admittedly infuriating) best friend, Boots jumped off from the kitchen window sill and into the nightlit world beyond.

**...**

_Okay...I can do this...I can do this..._

Boots paced restlessly across the pavement, stalking in front of the garden fence that served as one of Jess's territory boundaries. He could smell a faint wisp of her scent clinging to the night air, to the fence wood, and he resisted the urge to rub against the fence, rub back to mingle his scent with hers.

_The night's not getting any younger,_ he chastised himself, pacing faster, lashing his tail. _Come on, it's not that hard. _He stopped walking. _Just walk in, tell her how you feel, walk out. Simple. Easy. Doable._

Abruptly his heartbeat sped up until it was hammering furiously in his ribcage. _No, not simple. She'll laugh at me. She'll think I'm a fool. She'll tailflick me._ He shuddered at the mere thought of her doing such a...a _dismissive_ gesture to him. _I can't do this._ His paws shook. _I was an idiot to come out here in the first place..._

Suddenly he heard the familiar noise of a door opening. Boots stiffened, senses flashing all around him. He didn't entirely trust Twolegs at night. Sometimes they could behave very strangely, and occasionally weren't very friendly towards cats like they were in the daytime. But then he realized that the door-opening sound had come from behind Jess's fence.

He darted towards the gate and peered through one of the spaces. Sure enough, the door to Jess's nest had been opened—and Jess herself was slipping through it, tail waving in farewell to her Twoleg closing the door behind her. Light from within the nest still shone through the glass in the door, falling upon Jess's fur in a gentle glow.

_Oh...wow..._ Boots relaxed against the fence, content simply to gaze at her. How beautiful she was. Her fur, pale grey like fledgling down, or a tuft of silvery dust. It was even softer than both, sleek and shiny, thick and hugging her slender frame. Her long white whiskers danced on either side of her gently rounded face, narrowing up to her two pert ears that twitched above two bright pale golden eyes as clear as a summer's sky...

He gave a soft sigh. He loved every single hair on her body...

_But does she love you back?_

The thought raged through Boots's mind with such suddenness that he was taken by surprise. He jumped, his body tensing instinctively, and jolted the iron gate. It rattled on its hinges, rusty squeaks ringing out into the night. Jess looked up, startled; almost immediately her eyes found Boots's, and she was on her paws, tail waving in puzzled greeting.

_I'm such a birdbrain!_ Boots shrank back, hoping that she hadn't seen him, that she'd only _thought_ he'd seen him, but too late; the damage was done.

"Boots?" Her clear mew rang through the dusk. "Is that you?"

"Uh...yeah, hi!" Boots quickly straightened and stepped out into the full, puffing out his chest in an effort not to appear afraid. _She-cats don't like scaredy-toms! _"Hi there!" He groped for words, an explanation, _anything_... "Wow! I, uh, I wasn't expecting to see _you_ out here at this time of night!"

Jess frowned, and her ear twitched. "I live here," she reminded him.

"What? You do?" Boots felt embarrassment flood through him, hot as fire, scorching his fur. Had he really been freezing cold from water before? "Oh, uh, I mean, of course you do!" Inside his head, it was just as chaotic as the words tumbling out of him. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Stop talking...stop talking, now!_

Jess tipped her head to one side. "Are you okay?" she asked, all concern. "You...you seem different, tonight."

_Furballs!_ Boots froze. _Oh, this is all going wrong...What do I say? What do I say?_

"Oh, nothing! Nothing's up, I'm fine, I'm fine!" Boots forced a light chuckle to try and reassure her he was _fine_, but it ended up coming out like a dying rat's squeak. _Oh, furballs, furballs to the ends of the world!_ "Sorry, I was just...just..." He fumbled for some excuse. "...just checking up on you. Neo let me know that Puddy's goons were on the prowl."

"Oh, they are again," Jess mewed, her voice changing to disgust. "Heartless creeps. All they want to do is just go around causing pain to others. They won't have long or happy lives doing that for the majority of their time." She frowned suddenly. "What are you doing still out there, Boots? Get in, quickly! You don't want to be caught out, do you?"

_She's inviting me into her garden!_ Excitement seared through Boots's paws like lightning, and he was up and over even faster than Neo would've been able to. "Thanks!" he called as delightedly as he could manage. _Please don't let me sound like a rat's squeak again..._

Jess gave a soft purr of amusement. She trotted down the steps leading from her verandah to flat ground and padded up to Boots's side. His heartbeat quickened until it was racing even faster than it had been before. "You're so funny," she mewed softly, "and so sweet." She tipped her head to one side. "I'm glad we're friends."

_What's happening?_ The blood was roaring so loudly in his ears that Boots could hardly hear what she was saying. _She's...awfully close...!_

Jess's whiskers suddenly twitched. "You smell a bit like the sea."

"Oh, I do?" Boots's fur bushed out in horror. His pelt! He hadn't made himself presentable! _Birdbrain!_ Highly embarrassed and still reeling over the revelation, he twisted away and hastily began to lap at his fur. "Sorry! I, uh, I was walking by the shore again."

Jess purred. "You always walk there."

"Yeah..." Boots purred nervously back. "Guess...guess I do."

"What's that in your tail?" Jess's voice puzzled. "Goodness, that looks tangled..."

_Oh, no...I forgot about my tail knot..._ Boots quickly swept his tail over his paws. "Nothing to worry about," he mewed as breezily as he could. "Just a burr, you know, from the shore." _Birdbrain, burrs don't grow on the shore._ "I mean the forest! Yes, the forest. Pick up burrs all the time there." He froze. _Absolute birdbrain! Why'd she want to know about what I get tangled in my fur?!_

"You do?" Jess's eyes softened with sympathy. "Poor thing!" She reached down and began to lap at the knot in Boots's tail.

For a few moments, Boots was paralysed with surprise. Was she really helping him, grooming out the salty knot in his tail? But she'd taste the salt, surely...

A few heartbeats passed and Jess straightened. "There. That should feel better."

"Th-thanks," Boots mumbled weakly, flicking his groomed-out tailtip back over his paws.

"And it's very sweet of you to check up on me," Jess added. "I think I'll be all right, so long as I stay in my garden for the night. I usually do. There's not much to see out in the dark..." She closed her eyes and shivered. "I'm not as brave as you or Neo..."

_I'm not as brave as you..._ Those words echoed in Boots's mind, and he felt a delighted tingle work its way up his backbone. _She thinks I'm brave!_

"Course you are," he replied without thinking. "You helped Robbie check up on the other housecats, to hear Neo tell it."

"Just spread the word," Jess shrugged. "There was nothing very brave about it. And you and Neo, you both go into the forest every day and hunt things, and walk really long distances, and _fight_ against Puddy!" Her eyes rounded. "I'd probably never be as good as you at the things you do. You're so wild..."

_Wild._ The word pulsed in Boots's ears. He shifted his paws, suddenly uncomfortable. _I'm not wild. I'm a housecat. Just like Neo. Just like you._

"I, uh..." Boots uneasily rose to his paws. "I'm going to go hunt." Almost immediately he gave himself a mental tailflick. _Hunting at night? Am I daft?_ _But I can't back out now..._ His fur rippled on his shoulders. _She's watching me. She probably thinks I'm a bumbling idiot._ "I...uh...I don't suppose you'd like to join me?"

_Furballs! Can't I say anything right?_

Jess's fur prickled and her eyes rounded. "You're asking _me_ to join you?"

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," Boots gushed nervously. "The woods can be dangerous at night, but it's the time when the senses come alive the most—I mean, that's what they say, eh?"

The light grey she-cat tipped her head to one side. "They?"

"Um...I don't know." Boots kneaded the ground with his claws, worms wriggling in his belly. "But...well, I suppose I'd best be off." He turned away quickly, unable to meet Jess's clear, puzzled gaze for a heartbeat longer.

He was almost at the garden fence when he heard her call his name. "Boots, wait!"

He turned around, half hopeful, heart fluttering in his chest like a trapped bird.

Jess raised her tail. "I just wanted to wish you goodnight, and good luck with your hunt," she mewed, her pale golden eyes cheerful and warm. "Tell me all about in the morning. I do appreciate your offer—but I wouldn't be good at it."

Boots frowned. "Nonsense! You have just the right build for hunting!"

"But I don't have the courage to take a life," Jess admitted, shifting her paws. "I'd much rather watch the life grow around me. Some cats like you and Neo find joy and exhilaration in the hunt; for me, I find joy and exhilaration in watching things grow, and the sunrises and sunsets." She tipped her head to one side. "But I'd like to go out on the beach one day. We could have a walk, and you could show me all the best places along the shore...the rock pools that you and Neo visit so often, the mountainous sand dunes, the mud flats..."

Boots felt a trickle of pride flow through him. He knew those places as well as he knew the bush he and Neo always hunted in. _And Jess...she's asking me—me, the bumble-mouth—to go with her!_ Warmth tingled through his body from his nose to his tailtip. _Does this mean she likes me?_

"Boots?" Jess prompted, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He jumped and stammered, "Wh-what?"

"Could we go along the shore together one day?" Jess repeated, her tailtip waving hopefully.

_Why is she asking first?_ "Sure! Of course! I'd love to! Great!" Boots waved his tail enthusiastically.

Jess giggled, blinking bashfully. Was she overwhelmed by his excitement? Boots rapidly reined in his emotions, lifted his head and puffed out his chest, trying to look as dignified as he could. "Um...I mean, certainly," he mumbled. "I can...sure, the beach is good to walk on with a friend."

Both gazed at each other for a moment. Awkwardness hung heavy in the air.

Then Jess gave a slight cough. "I...uh...I should be getting inside."

"I should be going hunting." Boots whirled around and scrabbled up the garden fence.

"Boots!" Again Jess called his name, and the black tom spun around on the top of the fence so fast he nearly lost his balance. For a moment he stared into her pale golden eyes, sparkling like two rays of sunlight trapped in beads of dew.

"Be careful," she mewed, "and good hunting."

Boots gave a stiff nod, trying to think of some response. But the nervousness was back in his belly, clutching at his chest and wriggling in his gut much harder than before. It was all he could do to jump down into the darkness and race away from Jess's garden, crying at himself inside for bungling up so badly such an important occasion.

_I wasn't ready. Neo pushed me into it too soon, stupid piece of fuzz—now I'll never have the courage to even _face_ Jess again!_

* * *

**A/N: If you guys are wondering what the 'songmaker' is, and what song she (me) is playing, do look up Lindsey Stirling: Elements on YouTube... :)**

**And if you guys are interested, I have a new novel I'm posting on FictionPress, my original works about dragons. I'd love you forever if you could take a peek and share your opinion on what there is so far! Link is on my profile :)**


	4. Chapter Four - To Marvel Over Shadows

**Wilderness**  
**Book One**

**Chapter Four**  
**_-To Marvel Over Shadows-_**

* * *

There were many perfectly legitimate reasons why Boots was not feeling the friendliest to his housemate at that current time.

Reason one: Neo had disturbed his formerly peaceful afternoon by encouraging him to go to the rock pools.

Reason two: Neo had then pushed him into said rock pool.

Reason three: He had then encouraged him to go out into the night to confess his feelings to Jess, the most incredible she-cat in Twolegplace, when he was not ready to.

Reason four: It was thanks to reason three that he was now running along the hidden trail towards the valley bushland at moonhigh having to hunt, instead of being warm and snug on his Twoleg's bed or sitting on the windowsill, content to simply gaze at his surroundings rather than patrol through them.

_I'm still going to uphold that threat I made to him._ Boots's claws scratched the earth with every leaping bound he made, propelling him forward. He was running so fast the wind was boxing his ears, stinging the tips and making his head ring. He shook the ache away and bent his head, flattening his ears so low he felt the texture of his collar through the fluff at the top of his neck. _I'm going to shred his fur and claw his ears. I'm going to bite off his whiskers and pull out his claws one by one..._

Somehow, the thought of getting his revenge on his troublesome, mischief-fond housemate kept Boots going. Even though his legs protested bitterly—they had, after all, carried him faithfully to and from the valley already that day and had not been prepared to so unexpectedly do so again—he pushed on, determined to make sure he killed something worth his while to make up for the midnight trek into the untamed valley forests.

This wasn't the first time Boots had done a midnight hunt before, and greenleaf generally was the best time to be having late-night hunting sessions, as all the other seasons made the forest that much colder in the dark. But they were far less often than morning hunts, daylit hunts. This night hunt was going to be the first he'd done in many long moons.

He knew the route well enough to navigate his way along the paw-worn path even in near-total blackness. Instinctively he slowed his pawsteps as the ground suddenly evened out from its long uphill slant. Boots felt long grass laced with ice-cold dew bend beneath his paws, and heard the groan of trees as they were caressed by a wandering wind. His eyes steadily accustoming to the heavy darkness, he felt his way to the edge of the lookout ridge. As he slowly caught his breath and his eyesight filled out, Boots could make out the outline of the steep mountain-like cliffs that enclosed the valley, separating forest from sky. Clinging to the cliffs was the dark shroud of the forest, a dense cluster of knotted tree limbs and roots in the earth to make one huge woodland, one mysterious, fathomless bushland.

Boots half-expected fur to flick against his flanks, to hear Neo's cheerful mew beside him commenting on the woods and where they'd hunt that day. The leaves rustled by the wind, not by sifting paws, and a chill sliced through his pelt. Shivering, Boots fluffed up his thick coat, which had nearly all lost its leaf-bare layers. He sat down on the cold, wet earth beneath him, wrapped his bushy tail carefully around his paws, and contemplated where he'd hunt that night.

_Nowhere fancy. Somewhere I'd..._

A soft, mournful _h'ioo-hoom_ sounded above his head.

Boots stiffened, a shiver of astonishment racing down his backbone. He listened intently, hardly daring to breathe or believe it.

_H'ioo-hoom..._

_Could it be?_ he thought dazedly, cautiously turning his head towards the sparse-limbed young totara growing nearby.

For a few moments, the dull light revealed nothing in its branches, but Boots's ears and awakening senses were not lying to him; this he could be sure of, as a hunter on the prowl. The distinctive call of the nocturnal flybird was well-known to him on his night hunts, but he was yet to see the bird itself..._ruru_...

Then, a third time. _H'ioo-hoom..._

Wild excitement scorched his blood and seared beneath his fur. Boots rose to his paws, taking care not to disturb a single fallen twig or dead leaf around him. His eyes searched the totara's branches, seeking out a large bright-eyed feathered bundle...

_H'ioo-hoom..._ Suddenly the ruru could be seen, perched amidst the topmost branches and just outlined against the inky sky behind hit. The gleaming stars seemed to pinpoint its shape, a foreign dark mass against the delicate twinkling faraway lights. The bird chose that precise moment to move, rustling its wings and looking about its surroundings with moon-round, moon-bright eyes.

_It _is_ ruru!_ Boots felt a thrill pass through him. _I've never seen one before, let alone caught one..._

The nocturnal flybird suddenly tensed. It raised its head ever so slightly, scanning the woodland far below it. Suddenly it took off with a silent whirring of wings, vanishing over the ridge and into the tangled bush below. Boots hurried to the edge in time to see the dark shadow slip into the trees without so much as disturbing a single leaf. He listened intently, waiting. Then, barely a moment later, the ruru's song filled the valley.

_It never shuts up,_ Boots thought as the exhilaration of the hunt gripped his body. He lashed his tail and leapt away from the ridge, pounding his way towards the track that led safely to the bottom of the cliff. _And if I can listen to it, follow it...perhaps it'll lead me to prey. Or even to its own death. If I catch a ruru, a bird that no other hunter has ever caught before, it'll be my greatest hunt and kill yet...an ultimate test of my abilities. Something that Neo, for all his silent paws, his grace, his breathtaking agility, could not hope to even fathom._

**...**

The ruru's song echoed through the trees ahead. Boots had forgotten the aches in his legs. Adrenalin kept him on the very tips of his toes, kept him moving with the shadows in flawless harmony, kept his senses sharper than a falcon's talon.

He'd been following the ruru's movements through the forest for more than an hour, but he didn't feel at all tired. The ruru had failed to find any morsels by the way it was continuing its hunt—_And I'm not surprised, given all the chirping you're doing, birdbrain,_ the black-furred hunter thought—and continued to move gracefully and soundlessly through the trees. The only way Boots could hope to find it was by sound alone, by following its lonesome calls through the pitch-black woods.

At first the ruru had been far ahead, impossibly ahead. But great perseverance and determination pushed Boots on, urged him to follow the ruru no matter what. The ruru was his prey now, and he was not going to abandon the hunt until the quarry was caught or it had successfully made its final escape. Since neither had occurred yet, he continued.

Now the ruru was nearly in his sights again. He could hear its chirrs almost direct above him. Boots slowed his movement to spare a glance at the treetops. The leafy canopy here was thinner, allowing more of the sky and starlight to filter through the forest and light the way and branches. The dark tom paused completely, gaze frantically scanning the tree tops. _Come on, bush owl...where are you?_

Then he heard its cry. _H'ioo-hoom._ Boots's head snapped up to a young kauri. A noticeably dark mass was huddled in its lower branches, eyes sweeping its surroundings as it searched for a piece of prey. Fur bristling, Boots pushed himself low to the ground, pressing his belly against a bulging tree root. He kept his breathing light and shallow, soundless even to his own ears. He didn't take his eyes off the ruru while in his mind, he thought over the possibility of catching it. How would he lure it to the ground? He'd never hunted a fellow nocturnal hunter before...

He wasn't sure how long he sat there for, watching the ruru. Occasionally it chirped a few more times, its soft _h'ioo-hooms_ filling the small glade it had momentarily settled into. For the first time, Boots pondered why it was calling at all if it was on the hunt. _Perhaps it's not,_ he thought. _Perhaps it's searching for its mate...if they take mates. Do ruru take mates? Surely they do—any creature needs to have a mate, to have a family, raise a brood, and I know that ruru do..._

It was at that moment that a faint sliver of moonbeam found its way through the limbs of the surrounding trees. At first it was weak and barely seen against the darkness that lay behind it. But it progressively grew stronger as the moon rose higher, until great rays of silver penetrated the heavy darkness. The ruru was thrown into greater clarity, round eyes black, feathers quivering on its large body.

As though startled by the moonshine, the ruru gave a single, quiet _h'ioo-hoom_ and whisked away into the forest. Boots, unwilling to lose his prey so easily, leapt over the root and swept after it.

The moon's light was lightening the forest. The ruru flew noiselessly but Boots could see the shadow darting above his head, branch to branch, gliding between towering tree trunks, sweeping beneath a leaning bough. Adrenalin was giving wings to his paws—he glided over every obstacle that loomed before him, threatening to trip him or alert the ruru it was being watched and hunted (if it didn't already know that). Twice a fallen branch or small tree threatened his path, and though he was not a magnificent leaper like Neo, he cleared both with ease, landing softly on the moist dirt or dew-laced grass that coated the forest floor.

Soon he was running almost directly beneath the ruru's shadow. Boots allowed a quiet, satisfied purr to rumble in his throat. _I've got you now._ He feverishly looked about his surroundings, trying to predict where the ruru would go next, and if he could reach it with a great leap or some other cunning maneuver.

Then suddenly, everything turned chaotically fortunate.

Nearing a young rata, there came a startled, panicked squeak and a small grey shape sped out from the long grass gathered at its knobbly roots. The ruru's attention snapped down to the mouse at once and it twisted around in the air, bulleting towards the mouse at a breathtaking speed. Boots felt his heart leap into his throat. This was his chance!

But even as the ruru's talons prepared to close around the mouse and Boots's hind paws pushed off from the ground, another shape abruptly exploded into the scene. Claws glinted in the pale moonshine.

The ruru gave a startled hoot and tried to take off—but before it could Boots's paws slammed against its feathery body. Its flight broke and it crashed onto the grassy forest floor, Boots almost right on top of it. But before he could even deliver the killing bite, the world went spinning as the third unexpected hunter crashed into him.

Boots staggered, nearly losing his grip on the ruru, which he had pinned onto its back. The thing that had crashed into him bounced back with a startled squeal. The ruru gave a shrill screech and flailed wildly with its thorn-sharp talons, trying to claw at his captor's face.

_I've still got you!_ Boots recovered quickly from the blunder and slammed his forepaws firmly on the ruru's trembling body. Nightblack eyes fixed on him filled with brazen terror, and the screeches it was making were even shriller and louder than before. It struggled furiously with unexpected strength; several times, Boots nearly lost his grip on it. The owl was bigger than he was!

Hissing with frustration, Boots darted forward, hoping to grab the ruru's neck in his jaws. Instead he got a faceful of talons, driving him back for fear of losing his eyes. Blinding pain suddenly ripped across one side of his face as the talons dug into the skin above his right eye, and Boots let out a snarl of pain. The adrenalin pulsed through his body, stronger than before, overwhelming the agony. He dug his claws into the ruru's wings and flipped it onto its back, pinning its only means of defense beneath its body.

The neck exposed, Boots lunged forward to end it. He bit hard and felt bone scrape beneath his teeth. The ruru's cries ceased at once. Its wings flapped one final time, and then it was silent and still.

Panting from the struggle, Boots leaned back, licking the blood from his teeth. Aware of the clinging, cloying wetness that was running down the right side of his face, he guessed that some of the crimson on his muzzle was his own. The adrenalin rush faded a little, the pain began to return; he gave a soft groan, shaking his head to clear the dizzying ache.

Then he froze and whirled around as he remembered the creature that had exploded from the bush and crashed against him. At first, standing soundlessly against the shadows, Boots couldn't make sense of it. Then his eyes adjusted and he felt his ears flatten in surprise. The 'thing' was a cat like him.

The cat was staring right back at him, eyes round with amazement.

Boots blinked and turned around a little so he could see the cat without having to twist his neck so much. The moonshine was falling on the strange cat's fur in such a way that it displayed every imperfection that marked various areas of its pelt, namely around its front, legs and face. A small cluster of dull grey scars was scattered loosely over its muzzle, and there was a small nick at the very top of its ear. Its eyes were a brilliant gold, clear as freshwater tidepools, and its whiskers were long and silvery.

Then Boots took in the gaunt figure, the long, strong muscles beneath its sleek bluish and white fur, the steady way it held itself as though it belonged here...

...and he realized that the stories of the wildcats were true.

_He was staring right at one._

Boots's ears flicked forward and he dropped down into a low crouch at once, fur bushed out and tail lashing. The other cat jumped at the sudden change of stance and stepped back, fur bristling and tailtip twitching from side to side.

A few hesitant moments passed. _Should I try and speak to it?_ Boots wondered. _Will it attack me? Does this territory belong to it? Are there more?_ The questions chased themselves around in his head for a little while. Then he swallowed and lifted his chin.

"I mean no trouble or threat to you," he mewed as diplomatically as he could. "I come here only to hunt, not to fight."

The wildcat said nothing, but its awestruck expression was slowly changing to one of guarded hostility.

_It must be surprised by me—by me bringing down a ruru? Has it killed ruru before? Does it know that I'm a housecat, not a wild thing like itself?_ "If you want to," he went on cautiously, "take the bird. I don't think I could drag it back to Twolegplace by myself, anyway, and I've plenty of food..." He fell silent, aware his sentences were starting to lead to nowhere.

The wildcat blinked once, and as its eyes cleared they were definitely full of hostility.

_I've had enough for one night._ Pain and weariness nagging at him, Boots stepped carefully away from the dead ruru, away from the wildcat staring at him with unblinking eyes. He wasn't sure if it was going to give chase, rip his fur off, challenge him, even _talk_...but he didn't feel like he was ready to turn his back on it just yet. He kept walking backwards until he felt leaves tugging at the fur around his tail. Then he twisted around and jumped into the bush. As his paws touched earth once again he pushed forward, running through the forest as far and as fast as he could. The blood roared in his ears, so loudly he couldn't tell if the wildcat was giving chase or not.

He dared to glance over his shoulder, and what he saw nearly made his legs crumple in relief. The cat wasn't pursuing him.

Boots slowed until he was moving at a steady trot. Then he stopped when a sleepy stream wound its way into view, settling by its bank to clean himself from the hunt. As he lifted his forepaw to his muzzle, something soft tickled his nose.

He pulled his forefoot away, faintly surprised to see that a single ruru feather, looking a little battered, was trapped between his toes. Carefully he pulled it out and laid it on the ground beside him. The ruru's spotted markings were still clear even though the feather's vane was ragged and a bit torn at the edges. A single droplet of blood clung to the feather's barb. Ruru blood.

_I guess I won't be going home entirely disappointed._ Boots quickly cleaned his face, feeling his own blood wet his mouth. His eye, fortunately, didn't seem to have been hurt by the ruru's talons, only the skin above it, though the cuts were deep and he was almost certain that they would scar. After a few mouthfuls of water from the stream, he gently picked up the feather, holding the barb carefully in his teeth, and began the long walk home.

**...**

The forest was a blur around Falconheart as she raced like the wind through the matted undergrowth. She was running faster than she had ever run in her life.

She struggled not to trip over the ruru that she clutched in her mouth. It was huge and heavy, and her neck was aching from holding it up at such an awkward position for so long. She could still smell that stranger's scent clinging to its spotted tawny feathers, washed silver by the moonlight.

_That stranger himself... _Falconheart stopped suddenly, dropping the dead bush owl at her paws. She could see him in her mind all over again. He'd come running out of the shadows from nowhere, his intentions set not on the mouse that _she_ had been stalking, but on the ruru that had _also_ been stalking _her_ prey. She hadn't even seen the nocturnal flybird. How could he have been able to follow it, hunt it, even _catch_ it?

He couldn't be a warrior of WildClan. She'd know him, otherwise, and his scent and his appearance had both been unfamiliar to her.

And he wore a collar. The mark of a Twoleg kittypet. It was barely visible beneath his black fur that bushed out around his neck, and everywhere else on his body, but she'd seen the nametag glinting gold on his snowy-white ruff.

_But he hunts...remarkably._ She shook her head in dazed wonder. _How could he be a kittypet if he hunts so masterfully, so much like a warrior? Even when I crashed into him, and when the ruru scratched his face, he didn't give up until the bird was dead._ She closed her eyes and shivered as she remembered her unfortunate blunder into him. He'd appeared out of nowhere and she couldn't stop in time. She'd slammed into him, but to her surprise, she didn't bowl him over. No, _she_ was the one who was knocked off her paws, knocked backwards onto her side. He'd staggered from the impact but didn't lose his footing, or his grip on the trapped ruru.

His solidness had been the result of muscle, the kind of muscle that seasoned claw-warriors had on their bodies.

_Surely he's not some warrior exile?_ Falconheart's mind whirled, trying to think back to the nursery stories and Clan rumours she'd grown up listening to. A WildClan exile would've been some story, but if there was such a tale, she'd never heard about it, and nobody discussed the matter...

_But not even the best WildClan hunter would be able to catch a ruru..._ She stared blankly at the spotted feathery bundle at her paws. It was real, and had been alive barely an hour ago. _No warrior in the history of WildClan has ever caught a ruru._

But that tom had done it—and he wasn't even a warrior of WildClan. He was a kittypet, a housecat who let Twolegs stroke him, ate their slop, slept all day and night, never knew hardship or suffering, what it felt like to starve or live in total fear of every coming dawn...

Falconheart frowned. Those things couldn't be _entirely _true about kittypets. Not all of them, at least. That tom, he had the thickest fur that she had ever seen. Surely kittypets didn't have such a full look about them, such a warm pelt when they lived in their cozy Twoleg nests? And he was so strangely coloured, too...his fur was a mixture of reddish-brown, black and white, and all of it was thick and fluffy, especially his enormous bushy tail. Yet his pelt's colours and markings didn't bear the kind of bordered quality of a tortoiseshell.

_It's a wild look. Untamed. Uncontrolled. _Falconheart shivered. _He must be an exile of WildClan. Surely. But what could he have done to be thrown out of the Ravine?_ She looked down at the ruru. _Were they afraid of his hunting skills?_

She steadied herself, her breathing, her thoughts. She was getting no answers standing here and asking herself dozens of questions. She picked up the ruru and hurried on towards the Ravine.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before the Ravine's sloped, concealed entrance came into sight, but when she arrived the air didn't have the same kind of nightly quality to it as it had before, and she was certain high above the weathered treetops the sky was lightening with predawn. Yet though she'd been out all night, no tiredness clung to her bones or dragged her head down. Her body was tingling with excitement and fear from her midnight encounter with the strange kittypet warrior. The ruru still swung from her jaws, though over its feathery smell—and what was left of the tom's—she could make out the distinct scents of her Clanmates in the Ravine below.

She slipped over the rocks and lightly leapt between the two broad boulders that shouldered the entrance into the camp. Almost immediately her home's familiar sights and smells surrounded her, though she saw that the clearing was quiet and deserted. Her ears picked up the faint sound of snoring and rustling nests.

_My leader,_ she instructed mentally, padding across the Ravine's sandy clearing. _I must tell him..._

As she drew outside his cave, Falconheart hesitated. She could hear voices echoing from within, soft and anxious. She recognized Foreststar's and the medicine cat's, Silverfern's. At first she was relieved that she wouldn't have to wake her leader up. Then she was uneasy, though she knew this wasn't the first time the leader of WildClan and the medicine cat had a private discussion in the earliest hours of the morning. Did they already know about the incident, or were they just talking about something else? Dreams, omens?

Carefully she laid the ruru on the ground just outside, stepped over it and into the cave's yawning mouth. The air seemed to chill almost at once, and the overpowering smell of finely ground earth assaulted her whiskers and nose. Falconheart restrained a cough with difficulty, but the small choked sound was enough to alert the two dim shapes beyond of her presence.

Their talking ceased at once and they turned bright and cautious eyes onto her. Falconheart felt herself grow hot beneath her fur, and she took care to bow her head low in a deep gesture of respect for both her medicine cat and leader.

"Falconheart," Foreststar mewed. Falconheart looked up to see him rising to his dark paws, eyes bright with curiosity. "Is there a reason for disturbing us?"

She nodded. "Something..." She fumbled for a word. "...strange happened not long ago."

"Strange?" Silverfern's quiet mew betrayed none of her emotions, though her eyes lit with interest. "What kind of strange?"

Falconheart padded forward and sat a respectable but reasonably conversational distance from Foreststar and Silverfern. "There was this kittypet," she began uncertainly, wondering how best to phrase it. "He was...hunting in the forest."

"How deep into the forest?" asked Foreststar.

"Reasonably deep, but still on what we would consider the outer boundaries."

Foreststar frowned. "We don't patrol by the outer boundaries very much. There is little reason to; the thick of our war is centered in the heart of the valley, not at its outskirts." He swished his tabby tail across the floor. "I suppose the kittypets from distant Twolegplace have discovered the joy of the forest, then. Have they been stealing prey?"

"I'm...I'm not sure, Foreststar." Falconheart kneaded the ground with her paws. "I'm not even sure if he was a kittypet..."

"What are you talking about?" Silverfern was on her paws, her face a worried frown. "You said he was a kittypet before."

Falconheart glanced up in surprise at the medicine cat's sudden reaction. "I know he's a kittypet because he wears a Twoleg collar," she reasoned, feeling her stomach somersault and knot at once. "But at the same time, I don't think he could be. He hunted..." She paused again, trying to find the right word. "Foreststar, he hunted _magnificently_."

Foreststar was puzzled, but a little impatient. "So what have you come to report to us, Falconheart? Did the kittypet steal prey?"

Falconheart shook her head. "No, Foreststar. He...he caught prey, but when he saw me—"

"He saw you?" Foreststar's voice was sharp. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing," Falconheart mewed quickly. "I didn't trust myself to speak. At first I was too surprised to speak, anyway. When he saw me, he didn't run away with the prey, as I half expected him to. He said that he was no threat to the Clan, and he gave me his prey and left." She frowned, finally permitting herself to ask a question. "Foreststar, was a WildClan warrior ever exiled?"

Foreststar frowned. "I don't recall exiling any of my own warriors. There was no reason to. They are all honourable, loyal WildClan cats."

_But that can't make any sense..._ "Foreststar, the kittypet looked so _wild_," Falconheart protested. "He was as fit, sturdy and strong as you and any other warrior in the Ravine! He had a thick pelt, thicker than any other cat here, and it was coloured strangely for a kittypet. He wasn't lost; he knew the forest, I could see it in his eyes! He had the endurance of a warrior; I ran into him and the ruru scratched his head but he didn't stop the hunt for a moment!"

Foreststar was frowning, clearly unable to make sense of her words. Silverfern, on the contrary, had a perfectly blank expression on her face. Her eyes were round with shock.

"What did you say scratched him?" she murmured.

Falconheart hesitated. She'd never seen Silverfern looked so..._scared_ before.

"A...a ruru," she mumbled. "He was hunting it. He caught it. He gave me it." She flicked her tail to the mouth of the cave. "I left it outside..."

"A _ruru?_" Foreststar's eyes suddenly possessed that same shock Silverfern had in hers. They exchanged a glance, and Falconheart was perplexed to see such fear in their gazes. She'd expected amazement, not terror, to come from them.

"Is...that bad?" Falconheart murmured tentatively.

"No...no, it's not bad," Silverfern responded distractedly. Her expression seemed faraway, recalling a memory. The dark silver tabby rose to her paws and padded silently out of the cave. Foreststar was right behind her. Startled, Falconheart followed suit.

She stepped out of the cavern to see her leader and medicine cat stiffened with disbelief. Their green and blue eyes were fixed on the dead ruru lying sprawled over the earth. _What are they so frightened of?_ Falconheart thought dazedly.

After a moment Foreststar mewed quietly, "No-one has ever caught a ruru before."

"It was thought impossible," Silverfern agreed. "But this..." She turned to Falconheart, her blue eyes urgent. "This kittypet, you said, caught this?"

Uncomfortably Falconheart nodded. The young warrior's fur bristled at the medicine cat's intense stare and looked away quickly.

"It can't be," she heard Foreststar hiss, just as urgently as the expression in Silverfern's gaze. Falconheart turned around, wondering if her Clan leader was talking to her; instead, he was turned to Silverfern, whispering to her alone. "She said a WildClan cat, not some rogue."

"It must be some mistake," Silverfern agreed. "But the sign is inevitable. No warrior has caught a ruru, but this kittypet does? A _kittypet_, of all things?"

"Perhaps Dawnwater was wrong, then? Perhaps the ruru-song omen does simply apply to Rurutail..."

_Dawnwater?_ Falconheart wondered. She recalled the old nursery stories. _She was our Clan's first medicine cat...she found the Moontree...what does she have to do with this?_ Then she realized that both medicine cat and leader were staring at her intently, and she pushed aside her thoughts.

"Was there anything else, Falconheart?" Silverfern asked.

Falconheart hesitated, then dipped her head. "I just thought I should tell you that the kittypet was the one responsible for catching the ruru, not me."

"This kittypet..." Foreststar's face was creased in a perplexed frown. "What did he look like?"

Falconheart quickly described him to her leader. "He had a black face, head and shoulders with long white whiskers. His forelegs and hind legs were black before they met with white—his feet were white, and there was an especially large amount on his hind legs in comparison to his front. He had a white ruff and underbelly, but the rest of him was dark orange, almost russet. His tail was black with tinges of red in it, bushy as a fir tree..."

She stopped when she saw their eyes light up in disbelief, in perfect unison. They exchanged another glance, more frantic than before. "A fir, you said?" Silverfern checked quietly.

"Uh...well, it was...bushy as a fir," Falconheart mumbled, her ears going hot. What was with the pair of them? They'd never reacted like this about any news before...and here they were, flustering over firs and bush owls.

"Thank you for this information, Falconheart," Foreststar mewed crisply, jolting the confused young warrior out of her thoughts. "You may go now—but leave the ruru with Silverfern."

Falconheart glanced uncertainly at the medicine cat, to see that her blue eyes were solemn and grave, but carefully blank of any other emotion—or perhaps, that was all she was feeling at the moment. Falconheart really didn't want to try and read the Clan's mysterious medicine cat, so she dipped her head and stepped back, thoughts and paws already drifting to her warm mossy nest in the warriors' cavern.

_Why are they so het up about at the mention of a fir tree?_ She remembered their mention of the ancient, long-dead medicine cat of WildClan. _And what did Dawnwater have to do with this? Did Silverfern receive some kind of omen about something?_

She paused halfway to the limestone cave, her ears picking up muted whispers hissing behind her. She half-glanced over her shoulder. Silverfern was standing over the dead ruru, sniffing at its feathers. Foreststar stood beside her, murmuring to her in a low, worried voice.

"This can't be coincidental. Dawnwater is trying to tell us something."

"It's impossible. That kittypet isn't Clanborn. He can't be the one."

"Regardless, he caught a ruru. If what Falconheart says is true, then he's as fit and as strong as a warrior. Perhaps he has just as sharp fighting skills as well."

"You can't be serious." Silverfern's mew was curt. "We've never even met this strange tomcat."

"This isn't luck, Silverfern. This has to be a message from the Forest of Stars. That tom must be the one to save us."

"Or destroy us. The prophecy doesn't apply to him, at all. He's not a pureborn WildClan warrior. He's a kittypet, a son of kittypets, sons of kittypets before them."

"Does heritage really matter so? Silverfern, he's the one. He's started the events. He killed the ruru and silenced its song!" The words seemed to have the ring of an old phrase, or thereabouts.

"He's not the one." The medicine cat's mew was firmer than before. "He _can't_ be." Fear flickered beneath her words.

"He must be." Foreststar's eyes shone with desperate hope. "We have to find him."

Silverfern's eyes were cold, and the medicine cat said nothing. Suddenly afraid, Falconheart turned away and vanished into the shadows of the warriors' cave, scared at what she'd discovered, frightened of what she didn't know.

High above, the stars were fading and the sky was paling with rising dawn.


	5. Chapter Five - Discord

**Wilderness  
**_**Book One**_

**Chapter Five  
****_-Discord-_**

* * *

"My goodness, Boots, what in the good name of cats happened to you?"

Neo rolled his eyes, amused at Millie's stunned reaction. "What do you _think_ happened to him?"

"You look pretty clawed up," Robbie noted, nodding seriously. "Finally caught something that put up a bit of a fight back, did you?" His mew was light and teasing, though his eyes betrayed his concern.

Boots waved them off. "I'm fine, seriously," he mewed. "It's just taking a little while to heal."

"You'd be lucky it'd heal at all." Millie was suddenly beside him, her tongue rasping over the still-mending wounds the ruru talons had left on his face.

Boots ducked away beneath her tongue, hissing. "Don't!"

"I was just trying to help," Millie mewed reproachfully.

"It hurts when you do that," he grumbled.

"That means I'm helping, doesn't it?" Boots growled beneath his breath as he felt Millie's tongue return to his forehead, licking in a rhythmic, steady pattern over his healing cuts. After a few moments the throbbing ache that had pulsed in the aggravated flesh ceased, and he gave a small, relieved sigh.

"Thanks," he muttered. Millie's tailtip twitched, a signal of acknowledgement, but she didn't pause to answer with spoken words.

"So what did it?" asked Robbie, settling down across from Boots. He curled his tawny tabby tailtip over his neat white paws. "A cluster of brambles you failed to notice until the last moment? Rocks? A large and aggressive shrimp?"

"A ruru," Neo supplied, before Boots could.

"A _ruru?_" Robbie's eyes rounded with surprise, and even Millie paused in her tongue-lapping to express her disbelief.

"You tried to catch a _ruru?_" she gasped.

Boots nodded. "It was the perfect chance to," he defended himself. "It had landed right above my head. I followed it through the forest, and the moon came out, and a mouse shot out in front of me and the ruru swooped down to grab it, and..."

His voice drifted off—an image of a blue-furred wildcat with white tabby markings filled his mind, a cat with caution-filled dark amber eyes clear as a freshwater tidepool...

"And what?" probed Neo.

Boots shook his head, clearing the wildcat from his thoughts. "And that was it," he mewed. "I caught the ruru. In the process of subduing it, it lashed out with its talons and scored a lucky hit." He dipped his head slightly, brandishing his mending cuts. "This is the result."

"You're lucky to the ends of your whiskers that those talons didn't claw out your eye," Robbie noted grimly as Millie resumed washing the cuts. "Your Twolegs would've had a total _fit_ otherwise. You'd have been at the Cutter for weeks. They'd never have let you go out into the woods again."

"At least, not without me," Neo smirked, sitting down on Boots's other side. "Now what in the good name of anything goodly-named made you go out and hunt that particular night? That particular unfortunate night when you encountered a ruru?"

"It was a good night, a fortunate night; I'm lucky I hunted that night," Boots argued, lashing his bushy tail. "You've never caught a ruru before!"

"And I don't care to for that very reason." Neo nodded to Boots's head. "I don't desire to have my good looks spoiled anytime soon."

"Oh, _please_," Millie mewed dryly, pausing a second time in her washing to fix Neo with a sarcastic stare. "Since when has any she-cat thought you looked handsome? You're all legs and fur. There's nothing else on you."

"She has a point," Boots agreed.

"Oh, go fuzz yourself," Neo shot at him, and Boots snickered into his whiskers. "And for your information, my dear Millie," the silver tabby went on jauntily, "many she-cats in this Twolegplace admire my agility and superior grace to _this_ bundle of bush." He gave Boots a shove with one paw.

"_More_ she-cats admire my naturally handsome tail," Boots countered, brushing it across Neo's shoulders.

The grey tabby glared at the tail as it retreated to its master's side. "Tails are _completely _out of the question."

"They are absolutely not!" Millie retorted. "_I_ happen to find fluffy tails _far_ more appealing than long legs."

"Sorry to disappoint," Boots mewed to her quietly, "but I have my heart set on someone else." Jess appeared in his mind again—beautiful, stunning, friendly, sweet-natured... But strangely, she lingered for only a short time. The wildcat returned to the fore of his thoughts, fierce amber eyes blazing in the darkness.

"Course you do," Millie dismissed, but she still playfully tailflicked him as she returned to Robbie's side. "But I'm afraid my dislike of scars overpowers my love of fluffy tails."

Boots swept his tail over his paws. "So you think it'll scar?"

Neo twitched his whiskers. "Fuzzy face, I think we've all agreed it's going to scar."

Boots felt the cuts with one paw. There were four clean cuts, varied in length, running over the right side of his face. Three reasonable-length cuts were above one eye, one very short but deep cut beneath. Yes, they would scar—but at least he had survived the ordeal and triumphed. He had killed a ruru, a nocturnal flybird, one of the only nocturnal flybirds and the hardest of all forest prey to catch. He still had the feather. He'd tucked it carefully away in a safe niche in his Twolegs' nest. Not even Neo knew where it had gone, though he'd already seen the battered bloodied ruru feather as proof Boots hadn't been lying about his midnight hunt.

"So, apart from being attacked by a ruru that clearly didn't feel like dying, encounter anything else during your moonlit hunt?" Neo asked, flicking the dark tip of his tail over his forepaws.

Boots hesitated. He hadn't spoken about his encounter with the wildcat yet, not even to Neo. For a moment, he wondered what they'd possibly say about it. Robbie would probably act as though a legend had come alive, Millie would say 'I told you so', and Neo...well, Neo would probably want to meet the cat itself. He, like Boots, was too curious for his own good.

"Just what the forest has to offer," Boots replied as dismissively as he could manage.

Neo twitched one ear, and his hazel eyes narrowed. He looked as though he were about to ask something, but thought better of it and occupied himself with washing his muzzle instead. Boots suspected Neo knew he was keeping something; the silver tabby tom was very difficult to fool.

They idly passed the morning until Neo declared that it was time for lunch, and he and Boots ought to get back to their Twolegs' home. The sky was overcast, throwing a cool shadow over the Twolegplace, though occasionally the sun peeked out behind the rolling clouds. When they were out of sight of Robbie's garden, Neo turned to Boots.

"You saw something else out there, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," Boots growled. "But I wasn't prepared to tell _them_."

"Why not?" Neo's hazel eyes were challenging. "They're our friends, Boots. We can trust them. And why didn't you tell _me_ first of all?"

"It was thanks to you that I was in the forest at all," Boots snapped.

"Oh, _my_ fault, was it?" Neo lashed his tail. "How was it my fault? All I remember telling you is to go and tell Jess how you really felt."

Boots winced at the memory of the less-than-smooth meeting between him and the pretty grey she-cat. "And then I stumbled into saying I was going into a hunt," he responded. "The meeting went less than well, Neo." Anger flashed beneath his words. "I wasn't ready—and what did you do? Push me into it, just like you pushed me into going to the rock pools, _and_ into the pool itself!"

"I've already apologized for that," Neo mewed shortly. "But don't blame your moonlight hunt on me. You were the one who said that you were going off on a hunt—not me! I wasn't controlling your thoughts there. You were just acting on instinct." He gave Boots a friendly flick with his tail. "And look what your hunt brought you—fresh scars from a ruru's talon, and a ruru itself!"

Boots shrugged and kept walking, Neo alongside him. "The ruru wasn't the only thing I encountered out there," he admitted softly.

"Then what else?" Neo's eyes showed a mixture of excitement and impatience.

Boots sighed. "Neo...remember the stories about the wildcats living in the valley?"

"Yeah..." Neo's ear twitched. "What about them?"

"They exist."

Neo stopped, eyes round. Boots paused and looked back at him.

"They do," he mewed earnestly. "I met one of them."

"You...you did?" The former frustration had left the sleek silver tabby. His hazel eyes were round with amazement instead. That same kind of amazement that wildcat had worn when the ruru lay dead.

After a moment, Neo asked softly, "So what did you do?"

Boots thought back. The memory of his meeting with the wildcat in the woods wasn't at all hazy. It was fresh in his mind as though he'd only just experienced it for the first time. "It didn't say anything," he explained. "I did. I said that I wasn't a threat to it. I think I startled it—and impressed it by catching the ruru."

Neo softly laughed, dumbstruck. "That's just _too_ fortunate."

"I know." Boots shifted his paws. "I had a lucky streak."

"I think it's more than a lucky streak, mate." Neo padded forward until he stood directly beside Boots. "I think that's a turn of destiny."

"Destiny?" Boots narrowed his eyes at him. "I don't believe in destiny. I believe in the odd bit of sparse luck, and skill."

"Destiny and skill have nothing to do with each other," Neo mewed dismissively. "Destiny is a path that you have to follow. It has a way of guiding your paws."

"Oh?" Boots glowered at him. "You control your own destiny."

"Those who do often fall and fail."

Boots gave a dry, scornful laugh. "So what is it, Neo? What do you believe? You think that my destiny lies in the forest, not here with you, with our friends, with our _housefolk?_"

Neo hesitated, and for a moment Boots was speechless. He'd never seen Neo hesitate about _anything_ before. _Does he really believe what he's saying? Neo's never been one to lie..._

"I don't know," the silvery tabby replied at last. "But what I do believe is that your meeting with that wildcat, your catching of a supposedly-uncatchable bird...it means something, something big."

"Yeah," Boots grumbled. "Means I'll have a set of shiny scars on my face until the end of time."

"I'm not talking about your scars, dandelion-brain," Neo snapped. "Can't you take this seriously?"

Boots shook his head. "Seriously, I can't. I don't believe in superstitious nonsense."

"Nonsense?" Neo rolled his eyes. "It's not nonsense, trust me."

"Wonderful. Next you'll be telling me that I'm going to be an invulnerable warrior who can't be defeated in a fight. Oh, and I'll have wings, too! I'll be able to fly over the ocean and discover new lands!"

Neo cuffed him sharply over the ear. Boots ducked away, sourly rubbing his stinging eartip.

"You'll be eating your words soon enough," the silver tabby predicted ominously. "I'll be right and you'll be wrong, Boots. That wildcat is going to have a big influence in your life, whoever it was—and so will the forest. I think your destiny lies beyond Twolegplace."

Boots straightened, fur bristling. "And _this_ is why I didn't want to tell you."

"What, so I could point out the truth?"

"That's not the truth."

"It is the truth."

"No, it's superstitious nonsense."

"Great furballs, you're more stubborn than I am!"

"You're more stubborn than you've ever been." Boots lashed his tail. "Look, can we just drop the subject? Like, for good?"

Neo met his furious stare for a few moments—then hesitation came into his eyes and he glanced away quickly. "Thank you," Boots mewed, fighting to calm his voice and smooth his fur. "And before you ask about the wildcat," he went on, as he and Neo resumed walking back to their garden, "I don't know what its name was."

Neo sighed. "A pity. I'd have liked to meet it." The silver tabby suddenly frowned. "You don't even know what _gender_ it was?"

"It was dark and it didn't say anything to me," Boots defended himself. "Of course I couldn't tell what gender it was."

"Just asking, fuzzy face. No need to bite my head off."

There were the names again. Boots relaxed a little, his discomfort easing. They talked easily about meaningless topics until the tall garden fence came into sight. Even as they crossed the empty Thunderpath and prepared to jump over the fence, Boots hesitated.

"What happened back there, Neo...it didn't seem like you."

"What do you mean, what happened?" Neo paused and glanced back at Boots. Then his hazel eyes flashed with recognition, even a touch of hurt. "And I thought you said you didn't want to ever bring up the topic anymore."

"I'm not bringing up the actual topic itself," Boots corrected—though unspoken, it rubbed in the corner of mind anyway. "But I've never heard you talk about it before. Destiny, and all that nonsense."

Neo's eyes flashed at the last word, but he said nothing regarding it. "My mother," he mewed at last. "I can remember her telling stories about destiny and such when I was still with her as a young one." He turned around. "She really believed in it. I loved her very much, respected her stories. I believed what she believed."

Boots tipped his head to one side. "Where'd she hear about destiny? She was a kittypet all her life."

"Not sure," Neo shrugged. "But she believed in it. She told the most remarkable tales concerning it. She was a gifted storyteller, almost as if she'd been there, had the experience, herself." His whiskers twitched. "And maybe she did. But she told me and my brothers that there are such things in the world as omens, as prophecies, as destinies—and we cats are mysterious creatures, descended from the great cats that once stalked all four corners of the world." His eyes grew misty with memory. "Destiny takes to many animals, but it takes most strongly to us, she told us. Perhaps it's because we ourselves are as clear as water yet dense as mud, and a destiny is exactly like that. We may think we understand it at first, but in the end, destiny always has a twist in its tail."

Boots frowned. "What kind of twist?"

"A double meaning, the reality behind it, why it chose that particular cat... The possibilities are endless." Neo twitched his ears. "But it always has a way of being incomprehensible, dense as mud, in the very beginning—and clear as water at the very end."

For a long moment, Neo and Boots held their gazes. Then Boots snorted.

"To me, that's utter nonsense," he dismissed. "We choose our own paths in our lives."

Neo sighed, defeated. "Fine. Believe what you want to believe." His eyes narrowed. "But I'm still saying 'I told you so' if I turn out to be right."

"You won't be right." Boots padded past Neo and was the first to jump onto the garden fence. Beyond he could hear the songmaker warbling.

Neo lithely leapt up beside him. "I think I will be. I've never been wrong before." His hazel eyes twinkled. "And I have a feeling I won't be wrong until my judgement's as shaky as your high jumps."

Boots took care to give Neo a good strong shove on the way down.

**...**

That night Boots found himself not in his Twolegs' nest, where he distinctly remembered lying down to sleep, but in the untamed forest that dominated the steep valley behind Twolegplace. He found himself walking beneath the heavy canopy, padding through the leaf litter, beneath the watchful shine of the stars and a great, glowing moon.

Some part of him told him that he was dreaming. Another part told him that he wasn't. Boots wasn't sure which one he should, and wanted to, believe.

Far beyond, he heard eerie, shrill whistling—and even further, a strange booming, a forest melody that was new and strange to his ears. It sent shivers up his spine. They were the voice of the forest that slumbered through day and awoke in the night.

Boots stopped walking and dug his claws into the ground. The territory was unfamiliar to him, and he sensed he was deep in the forest, far deeper than he had ever been before. He looked over his shoulder. The shadows seemed to be hiding more than undergrowth and bushes. He sensed that there was something watching him, something with hungry, bright eyes.

"Is there anyone here?" he called, but his voice was swallowed by the trees rising high above his head.

Suddenly he heard a shrill screech from the sky. Boots looked up—a ruru was diving, talons extended, whirling between the leaning boughs of a tree with budding, blood-red blossoms. Its eyes were bright and alien, and its black talons were aimed right at his face.

Hissing, Boots ducked, shying beneath the flint-sharp talons. The bush owl screeched and twisted around in the air for another attack. Boots rose up to meet it this time, paws flailing. He struck the bird in the chest, knocking it off-balance. Hooting in alarm, it twisted clumsily in the air and thudded onto its back with a startled _oof_.

Boots, snarling in satisfaction, prepared to leap onto the breathless ruru—but as he dug his claws into the bird's sleek spotted feathers, a beam of moonlight flared through the tree branches and onto the struggling animal beneath him—and Boots choked in horror as he saw that it was no ruru his claws were embedded in, but a cat like him. Its eyes were round and pleading.

He recoiled at once but the damage was done. Blood flowed freely from the wildcat's wounds, soaking the ground, staining its bluish fur black in the halflight.

"No!" Boots gasped. "I'm sorry—I thought—I didn't—!"

The wildcat didn't even try to struggle. Its pale eyes found his, and its whiskers twitched. They were dark amber in colour, and they blazed in the shadows, filled with awe. _You caught it,_ they seemed to say. _You caught a ruru._

"No, I didn't," Boots whispered. "I caught you."

The wildcat's eyes glazed and its head lolled to the side.

"No! Wake up!" Boots pushed his nose into the cat's stiff fur. "Get up, please! I'm sorry!"

Suddenly he heard a hiss just above his head. Boots jerked away to see that he hadn't pushed his nose into the dead wildcat's pelt—but of a creature as big as he was. Its tail was long and furry, its body round, claws for paws and eerily bulbous eyes on its round squashed face. It hissed again, twisting around to pounce on him.

Boots struggled, trying to throw the creature off him. It gave a shrill screech of anger. Suddenly that same rage flared in his blood, and with a furious yowl he shoved it away. He rolled onto his paws; the grass was slippery with dark crimson from both friend and foe. Looking around, Boots saw countless cats and strange creatures wrestling and fighting, screeching and spitting, hissing and howling. Aches rushed up and down his body, and his claws hurt. He had been fighting for longer than he'd thought.

Suddenly he heard a shrill cry sound behind him. Boots whirled around—a group of huge rats were leaping at him, tiny yet deadly teeth bared. Boots tried to twist away from the attack but they fell on him, scrabbling at his throat. Panic flared in his blood and he slashed his claws through anything near him. One rat fell away with a dying squeal. Another fled with its ears clawed away. But more and more came, larger and larger, furrier and furrier until they could not possibly be rats, but something else. Their tails weren't bald but short and furry, and their faces were less pointed, their jaws stronger, their eyes blacker, and their intentions even more grisly.

Boots could feel his body aching, and blind panic was his drive; the anger that had formerly guided his claws had long since passed. The lean-bodied creatures loomed above him, eyes shining with brutal triumph. Suddenly they fell on him, and no matter how hard he struggled against them, clawed at their fur, twisted and ducked and dodged, they always struck back harder. Then the world turned red and his body was thrashing uncontrollably. The screaming and screeching around him ceased, and in its place there came a terrible throbbing silence, and a cold tide of black that rose up to greet him as he fell.

**...**

"Your wounds look a bit better today." Neo's eyes swept over Boots's head, assessing the raw red marks parting his black fur. "They'll scar nicely, without need of the Cutter."

Boots didn't answer.

"So, what do you want to do today?" Neo asked. "Shall we go to the shore?"

"No," Boots growled. His fur prickled at the smothering memory of falling—no, being _pushed_—into the rock pool.

"Shall we go hunting?"

"No."

"Do you want to visit Rob and Mil?"

"No."

"Do you want to do _anything_ today?"

"Not really."

Neo scowled and sat down beside Boots. "That's hardly an excuse," he mewed sternly. "And you've never wanted to do nothing before. There's nothing interesting about doing nothing. You, quite literally, sit there and twiddle your paws."

"Well, maybe I want to do that today." Boots turned away, resting his chin over his forepaws. "Maybe I want to think." His dream flooded through his mind, until all Boots could see was the forest, the dying wildcat, the terrible battle between him and the rats and the other creatures...

"Think about what?" Neo mewed into his ear.

Boots growled. "That concerns me, not you."

"But I'm your friend, your housemate." Neo narrowed his eyes. "We're supposed to do everything together, have no secrets between us...you know, that kind of thing."

"I'm afraid that I'm just not in the mood to do that kind of thing today." Boots wrapped his tail tighter around him. He could almost hear the shrieks from the enraged ruru and the fighting cats echoing in his head. They still sent cold shivers racing up his spine. "Maybe later, Neo. Right now I need to be left alone."

Neo frowned and settled down opposite Boots, meeting him at eye level. "Clearly something's on your mind—and you know what? I bet you I can guess exactly what is." He tipped his head to one side. "It's that wildcat, isn't it?"

Boots looked away. "Only a part of it."

"Jess doesn't appear anywhere in the problem?" Neo prodded.

"No, she doesn't." For a moment, Boots was surprised at himself. He hadn't even _thought_ about Jess for days. He could only think about the wildcat that he'd encountered in the forest—and even now, five days after he went on his moonlit hunt, that memory of meeting it was still fresh and vivid in his mind. He doubted it'd ever dull.

"Odd." Neo gave a small, halfhearted purr. "I'd have imagined she'd been occupying your thoughts all the time."

"So did I." Boots shrugged. "I guess not."

"Have you talked with her recently?"

"No." Boots lashed his tail once. "I don't think I'd ever have the courage to speak to her again."

Neo's eyes softened with sympathy. "The conversation between you two didn't go as you planned?"

"No. It went utterly disastrously."

There was a brief pause, and then Neo mewed, "Yet your failure with Jess isn't haunting your mind—and you're one to brood over past events. All the time. _Especially _the ones that you feel shame for." His eyes shone with amusement. "Like your fall into the shrimp tidepool at the rocks."

"Like my _push_ into the pool, you mean," Boots mewed bitterly. "And I still haven't forgiven you for that, by the way."

"I know," Neo replied jokingly. "But I know that look in your eyes. You're brooding."

"Of course I'm brooding," Boots snapped.

"So, what are you brooding about?"

"Why do you care?" The words came out bitterer than he intended.

Neo flicked his tail. "Because I care about you, housemate," he answered. "And all that brooding isn't doing well with your health. I can practically see your fur getting blacker every day, and another white hair in your pelt." He tilted his head to one side. "So come on, grumpy fluff. Tell me. Tell your old buddy."

"You're not my buddy."

"So what am I?"

"An absolute nuisance."

Neo laughed. "Ain't that the truth!" He playfully prodded Boots with a paw. "You know full well that I'm stubborn as a rock. I'm not leaving until you tell me your woes."

Boots didn't reply to this. Neo, true to his word, refused to leave, sitting in front of Boots until at last, fed up, he rose suddenly to his paws and smacked Neo hard over the ears.

"Ow!" The silver tabby sprang back, rubbing his head.

"Leave me alone!" Boots spat. "Sometimes I need to think without you in my ear all the time!"

Neo lifted his chin and lowered his paw. "And sometimes, you need a friend!" he shot back, lashing his tail. "You'll kill yourself if you keep thinking as sourly as you do, and I worry for you, more often than you'd care to know! Ever since you went hunting in the forest you've changed—you've become surlier, drifted apart from your friends, drifted apart from _me!_" His eyes flashed. "We haven't even been hunting for days. You've rarely left Twolegplace. Don't you want to feel the shore wind in your whiskers or the leaves under your paws? Have you forgotten the simple joys that this land offers us?"

Boots met Neo's stare steadily, but this time, he was the first to look away. "Of course I haven't forgotten them," he muttered, stung by Neo's words.

"By the way you mope around, you certainly seem to," Neo retorted. He brushed his tail firmly over Boots's shoulder and stalked towards the kitchen window. "Now come on, ear-slapper. We're going to the beach."

Boots stared at him. "What, right now?"

"Yes, right now!" Neo jumped onto the sill and turned back expectantly. "And you are coming with me."

Boots squared his paws. "I don't want a walk."

"You don't know what's good for you." Neo twisted around and leapt silently from the windowsill.

For a few heartbeats, Boots stared at the open space and debated whether he should follow Neo or just stay in the empty Twolegs' nest. Their housefolk had gone out, leaving the den empty and peaceful. Then he groaned and padded to the windowsill. He knew Neo too well, and the truth was that the silver tabby tom would simply come back and drag him out if he didn't come on his own accord.

As he leapt onto the windowsill, he caught sight of Neo standing in the garden outside, standing in the warm greenleaf sunlight, his silver fur gleaming. The tabby turned around at the sound of scrabbling claws, and gave a small nod of satisfaction.

"Good. You came." His mew was curt, but his hazel eyes were friendly. "And we're not going back into the den until we've gone to the shore for a little while."

Boots sighed. "Just for a little while."

"In that case, for a long while." Neo padded to the garden fence and lightly sprang on its narrow ridge. "Come on, then, slow slug! I can feel the salty wind in my whiskers!"

Boots cursed under his breath, then padded up to the fence and scrabbled up beside Neo. For once, the agile tom had nothing to say concerning Boots's less-than-admirable leaping abilities, and the pair jumped down from the fence and walked to the shore in silence.

For Boots, the quiet between them was uneasy, and his mind was still whirling at the accusations his housemate had hurled at him before. _Yes, I haven't been myself lately and yes, I haven't been hunting often, but I'm not pushing my friends away, am I? _His fur chilled when he realized he had no answer to this.

Soon the concrete paths gave way to soft, warm black sand. The shore was only a little way away from their home, barely a half hour's walk. Boots and Neo ascended the pebble-laid path that led to the sweeping shoreline, and paused on the leaning tussock-covered bank that overlooked a broad, windswept section of the dark-sanded beach. The great expanse of the sea could be seen, gleaming far out in low tide, the sand near it still so wet it seemed to reflect the clear blue sky. Far beyond, Boots could see Twolegs walking along the water's edge, some of them with their dogs, and Twoleg kits playing in the small lapping waves that bubbled around the exposed mud flats.

"You may like the shore in the open morning," Neo commented off-pawedly at Boots's side, his hazel eyes appreciatively scanning the beach. "But I prefer it at midday, when it's warm."

Boots felt the salt-laced wind in his whiskers, stroke his fur—the sensation was wondrously familiar, and for a moment Boots wondered how he could have rejected the thought of returning here at all. The beach felt as comfortable as the forest, as his Twolegs' home and the Youngest Female's bed.

After a few moments in a more companionable silence, Neo turned to Boots. "Your troubles don't seem to trouble you as much as they did back at the house," he commented.

Boots shrugged. "The ocean air clears my head."

"Hence why I brought you here," Neo dismissed. "Now, Boots." He turned his attention away from the beach. "Tell me what's wrong."

Boots sighed, shifting his paws. "It's a dream I had a few nights ago."

Neo frowned. "What kind of dream?"

"It was like a nightmare..." Boots looked out over the sweeping black sand. "But it was far too clear and too bizarre to be a nightmare. I rarely dream, but this time I did, and it was the clearest I'd ever had. I can still remember every detail of it." He closed his eyes and the images of his walk through the forest, of his fight with the strange creatures and the ruru that became the wildcat, flowed through his mind, one by one.

"Which means you could explain it to me," Neo prompted.

Boots was silent for a few moments. Then he gave in and in a low voice he explained his nightmare in full account, careful not to leave out a single detail. Neo's eyes widened a few times, but the silver tabby didn't interrupt. _Though he never shuts up sometimes, he's always been a good listener,_ Boots thought.

"I just don't understand it," Boots concluded wearily. "I think it's trying to tell me something, and yet it's warning me against something. That's what my instinct tells me; then my common sense tells me something completely different. It says that I should take this dream to heart." He looked helplessly at Neo. "And I don't know what to do."

Neo flicked his tail. "My advice?" he mewed. "Do everything instinct and sense tells you to."

Boots's ears twitched forward in surprise. "And how am I meant to do that?"

"Simple. If the dream's trying to tell you something, and yet you think it's giving you a warning, surely that means the dream's telling you the dream is a warning?"

Boots shook his head. "It's not like that," he said. "It's like they're two completely separate things. I can't make sense of either one."

Neo tipped his head. "I'm having a hard time making sense of you."

"There's something else, Neo..." Boots's voice drifted off as he watched a cluster of those long-legged beasts trot along the shore. For a moment he thought he saw the Youngest Female astride one of the beasts, though he wasn't overly surprised. He'd seen her on them many times before. Today she was riding a large black-and-white beast with a healing wound on its head. He remembered his own mending cuts and absently raised his forepaw to feel them. They didn't seem to be affected by the salty winds.

"Something else that I'm missing," Boots went on, as the beasts and Twolegs lumbered away. "I feel like I should understand the dream. That it involves me, somehow. But I really don't have a clue how. I only met that wildcat once. I doubt I'd ever meet it again. But..." He broke off.

"But what?" Neo asked quietly.

Boots frowned. "I don't know. I don't know how the wildcat, or any of the others I saw, or those creatures that they were fighting, matter to me." He glanced at Neo. "Any ideas?"

For a few long moments, Neo was silent. Boots wondered, for a moment, why he was even asking his opinion on what formerly had been _his_ dream, and _his_ knowledge alone. _Perhaps it's because I feel a lot less burdened than before...and because though Neo can be utterly infuriating from the ends of his whiskers to the tip of his tail, he's still my housemate and my best friend, and I trust him, just as I know he trusts me._

Then Neo mewed softly, "I think the wilderness is calling to you."

Boots gaped at him. "What?"

Neo's fur rippled along his shoulders. "Mother believed in this legend," he explained softly. "That there is this great unseen power that lives in the hearts of all cats who were not kitted beneath Twoleg influence, who were born with the wind in their fur and the grass at their paws—and that sometimes, the great power rises from their soul and calls to them. When the wilderness calls, one must heed the cry and follow its song until it ends—and the legend speaks that when it does, the cat who has heeded its call will never be the same. He will have changed for the better. Such is the power of the forest, the hunt, the wind and the shore." He turned his hazel eyes, suddenly seeming as old as the stars, across the black sand to the sea that lined the horizon far beyond. "I've known for a long time that if this legend truly exists, the wilderness lives in you just as you live in it. If there ever was a time that the wilderness calls, it would be with you."

Solemnly Neo turned to Boots. "The wilderness is calling to you," he mewed, "and it would be wise to answer it."

Boots stared, speechless at his housemate. "But you know I don't believe in your stories," he murmured. "So why tell me?"

"You may not believe." Neo's eyes shone. "But _I_ do, and I believe Mother. She had many secrets, and I daresay she once felt the call in her life. Why else would I love the wilderness as much as a wildborn, despite being kitted beneath the influence of Twolegs, despite being doomed never to hear the call of the wild in my lifetime?"

Boots frowned. "You don't know that."

"I do know that. My brothers and I were born where my mother lived, with the Cutter. I'm not a part of the legend. But you, Boots. You are a different story."

Boots shook his head. "I'm not leaving Twolegplace. I'm needed here. Besides," he added swiftly, seeing Neo about to protest, "even if this call of the wild thing _did_ exist, where would I go? How would I know where to even start?" His mew was scornful all over again, but Neo did not take offense. Did he sense the sudden fear that lay beneath Boots's words?

Neo's eyes twinkled. He looked as though he had suddenly aged many years. Where had the rapscallion who constantly annoyed his housemate and used to enjoy biting his fluffy tail gone? "You can't stop thinking of the wildcat you encountered in the forest," he remembered. "And you dreamed about it. Only one, such as yourself, who hadn't heard the legend of the wilderness's call wouldn't realize that your journey involves the wildcat somehow. Perhaps that is where you start."

Boots dug his claws into the sand. He didn't really know what to say, and he could feel the fear prickling beneath his hairs. He'd never believed legends and stories or anything remotely similar, but if it _was_ true...if he did have to leave...where would he go? Why did he have to go? He loved the wild and the Twolegplace. Surely he could live with a paw in each world? _I have lived this way for most of my life!_

Suddenly he heard the sound of rushed, frightened paws behind him. He looked over his shoulder, Neo doing the same; both were instantly on their paws when they recognized who was racing up the sand trail towards them, eyes round with dismay.

"Boots! Neo!" It was Robbie, his voice filled with relief and fear. He slid to a halt before them, his orange tabby pelt bristling. "Thank my pelt I found you."

"What is it?" Boots demanded sharply.

"It's Puddy." Robbie's eyes were round, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "He's attacking Jess's garden with his goons."

_Jess?_ Alarm seared through Boots's fur. Without another word, the black tom sped down the sand trail back towards Twolegplace, Neo and Robbie just behind.


	6. Chapter Six - Tooth, Claw and Collar

**Wilderness  
**_**Book One**_

**Chapter Six  
**_**-Tooth, Claw and Collar-**_

* * *

As they drew nearer to Jess's garden, Boots could hear the sounds of aggravated hisses and sneering snarls. Fear throbbed harder in his chest and he lengthened his stride until he couldn't possibly stretch his legs any further. Without even slowing down he launched himself at the fence, muscles aching from the strain; yet driven by his drive of adrenalin and terror for his friend, he made it to the top and stayed, wobbling for a few moments.

Instantly his eyes found Jess and Millie—the two she-cats were backed up against the base of the wall of the Twoleg den, with three lean figures looming in front of them, jeering and spitting. Puddy's dark tabby fur stood out against a pelt of white with bright ginger tabby patches, and a pelt of nightblack with a few tiny pale spots.

Attracted by the sound of scrabbling claws, Puddy turned around, and the two others—Boots recognized them to be Rusty and Pitzi, his two most loyal seconds—imitated him. Their eyes narrowed at once as they fell on the large, angry tom perched on the fence at the other end of the garden, but Puddy's gaze merely flashed with arrogance.

"So, you're here too, are you?" he jeered.

Boots bristled. Anger was surging white-hot beneath his pelt—anger that he had felt many times before. "Leave my friends be."

"Or what?" Puddy growled, lashing his tail. "You're going to come and fight all of us?" He gestured to his two goons on either side of him. "All three? We'll tear you to pieces, and then we'll tear your kittypet friends!"

"No, you won't." Boots flashed a glance at Jess, pressing close beside Millie. He saw she was trembling, her beautiful pale golden eyes round with fear. Millie, on the contrary, was not shaking, but wearing a defiant expression on her muzzle. Her claws were out, though no fur was caught in between. _They haven't fought yet. Thank goodness..._

Rusty sneered. "We outnumber you three to one!"

"I can count," Boots growled back, fur fluffing up.

"But it seems _you_ can't." Suddenly the fence trembled again—much less noisily than before—as Neo suddenly flanked Boots, his hazel eyes bright with disgust for the ginger-and-white tom.

Boots twitched an ear at him. "You took your time."

"Robbie's nowhere near as fast as us," Neo responded, just as the fence shook a third time. "And one of us had to linger back to keep up with him. Clearly, you weren't going to." He nodded across the garden to the two trapped she-cats. "You all right there, Mil?"

"I've been better," Millie replied, her eyes warily flashing over the three toms who crouched before her.

"Jess, you're okay?" Boots anxiously looked the grey she-cat over.

Jess looked at him, and when she spoke, her mew was full of relief. "They were getting pretty close, but they haven't hurt us," she answered.

"Just...just stay away from them!" Robbie spat as bravely as he could, but when Boots glanced at the lanky tom on his other side, he saw that he was trembling beneath his orange fur.

Puddy twitched his ears. "Should've known you'd have gone squealing for help, like the yellow-bellied coward you are," he remarked. His claws slid out. "Just means that me and my friends are going to have fun ripping the fur off these two instead!"

Boots dug his claws into the wood under him. "I'd like to see you try," he goaded.

Pitzi glanced sideways at Puddy. "Can we?" he begged, tail lashing.

Puddy didn't glance at his fellow thug. "Actually bring me some of their fur and whiskers this time," he answered. Rusty and Pitzi hissed and bounded forward, claws unsheathed and glinting in the greenleaf sunshine.

Even as Boots prepared to jump, he felt Robbie tense beside him, about to do the same. "No!" he instantly growled, hauling the orange tom back by force. "You can't fight them alone." Robbie opened his mouth to protest but Boots snapped, "Get to Millie, help her protect Jess. We'll deal with these two furballs!"

Without waiting to see if Robbie obeyed the command or not, Boots threw himself down from the fence, Neo right beside him. They landed on the grass almost immediately to find the furious stares of Rusty and Pitzi glaring into them. At once the world was lost in a whirlwind of claws and spits.

But Boots recovered quickly. Instinct setting in, he twisted and ducked, avoiding the volley of pummels that Pitzi sent his way. As he jumped out of the chaos, he caught battle-raised yowls echo nearby and a glimpse of Neo's silver tabby fur blurred in a furious dance with Rusty's patched ginger-and-white.

"I'm going to enjoy this," Pitzi growled, lashing his tail. "I never did even out what you gave me last time." His eyes flashed up to the mending cuts above Boots's eye, and a smirk suddenly played beneath his whiskers. "Well, well; someone already started."

"Yes, some_thing_ did," Boots affirmed, taking a step forward. "Funny, that; a bird I caught the other night had more fighting abilities than you—and then I killed it with a single bite." His eyes hardened. "You so much as touch my whiskers or those of my friends', I'll rip yours off."

For a moment, Pitzi looked quite afraid and uncertain. Then he regained his spitting composure and with a wordless shriek he lunged. Boots rose up to meet him, locking claws in claws. He pushed back; his greater weight and strength exceeded Pitzi's and threw the sleek black tom onto his back. Pitzi gave a startled gasp when he found Boots's muzzle right in front of his. Stifling a low growl, Boots drew one set of claws back to rake them across Pitzi's face.

Instantly a set of hind legs met Boots's stomach. Unbalanced and winded, he ungracefully slithered off Pitzi and onto the grass. Growling in satisfaction, Pitzi wriggled free and lashed out with his claws. Boots ducked low to protect his ears. As Pitzi angled his claw strikes downwards, Boots surged forward as suddenly as he could, hoping to take him off-guard.

He did; now Pitzi was the one unbalanced and winded, and his precise claw strikes became feeble swipes. Boots had a chance and he took it; he struck the lean black tom hard across the face, and felt his claws come away with fur. Pitzi hissed with pain and fell back, shaking his head to clear the dizziness Boots was certain was raging in his head.

In the brief lull between them, Boots looked around. Neo was holding his own well against Rusty. The ginger-and-white tom was missing a clump of fur on his shoulder, and there was a fresh scratch on his nose. But Neo's eartip was torn and a bead of blood was welling from the wound, and he seemed to be favouring a leg when he fell into a defensive crouch.

_And Jess? Millie? Did Robbie get to them?_ Boots snapped his attention towards the Twoleg den. He saw Jess pressed up against the den wall, belly flattened to the grass and eyes round with terror. Millie and Robbie shielded her with their bodies, bravely lashing out at Puddy who was dodging and parrying their swipes with ease.

_I have to get to them—_

His thoughts were knocked clean out of his head as Pitzi swept him off his feet. Boots let his body relax as he felt his body hit the ground, then tensed it and rolled a split heartbeat before Pitzi's claws came driving down. They sank into grass and earth while Boots was back on his paws, ready to strike again. Pitzi's eyes widened but he couldn't avoid the inevitable blow. Suddenly he was sprawled on his belly, groaning, a series of angry welts on his left ear and across his cheek.

Boots jumped on him and seized his collar in his jaws. Pitzi's eyes widened and he struggled. Boots kept his grip, pulling back his head just enough to place worrying pressure on his trapped enemy's throat. "Do you yield, furball?" he growled around the collar.

Pitzi drew a ragged gasp of breath and struggled harder. His claws flailed wildly, trying to slash at his captor's legs.

Boots yanked hard on the collar and Pitzi choked. "_Do you yield?_"

After a moment Pitzi nodded feebly. Boots dropped the collar and the gasping black tom. He lay where he was for a few heartbeats, stunned and breathless from his ordeal of near-strangling.

"Finished with that maggot-pelt?" Neo gasped nearby. Boots snapped his attention towards his housemate, who was pressed up against the fence shielding his injured leg from Rusty's fangs. "A bit of help would be nice soon..."

Rusty drew his claws back with a triumphant hiss, malevolent intentions glittering in his cold green eyes. But before he could bring them down, Boots had launched himself across the grass and straight into his new opponent's side. Rusty yelped as he was sent tumbling across the grass. Boots stood over him, prepared to clash claws with his new foe.

The ginger-and-white tom recovered swiftly and rolled back onto his paws, lashing his fluffy tail back and forth. Boots noted with some satisfaction that Rusty's tail did not even come close to the bushiness of his own.

"What are you going to do?" he goaded. "Box my ears?"

"Weakling," Rusty spat. "You can't even take me alone."

"Says who?" Boots growled back. He dug his claws into the ground. "You hurt my friend—you are going to lose whiskers."

"Not before you!" Rusty raced forward, but Boots avoided the rush with ease. He raked his claws through Rusty's fur as he passed him, and the small long-haired tom cried out with pain. Then he dug his paws into the ground and spun back, forepaw flailing in a sudden counterattack. Boots barely avoided having his nose laid open.

Rusty began to pad forward, but suddenly recoiled with a fierce howl of pain. Neo had soundlessly crept up behind him and sank his teeth into Rusty's very fluffy tail. As Rusty spat curses and spun around, Boots surged forward, striking Rusty's shoulders as hard as he could. Rusty hissed as fur was torn off his shoulders and claws dug into his skin, drawing blood. He jammed his forehead against Boots's ruff, but as the black tom staggered back, breathless, Neo released the tail in his mouth to favour a claw attack, scratching Rusty's flanks.

"The collar!" the silver tabby meowed breathlessly. "Grab his collar!"

Boots nodded and leapt towards Rusty. Before he could reach him, Rusty ducked out of sight. Suspecting what he was about to do, Boots twisted in the air, re-angling his lunge. Even so, it was a near miss; he felt whiskers graze his stomach, and Boots landed clumsily, stumbling on his paws. He found his balance quicker than Rusty did and was the first to attack the other. He slashed twice at Rusty's cheek, forcing his head back as Neo slashed and nipped at Rusty's hindquarters.

Overwhelmed, the ginger tabby-and-white tom sank onto his stomach and flattened his ears. Boots seized his collar and tugged hard until Rusty squealed for mercy.

"And let you remember it," Boots growled as he released him. Rusty scrambled breathlessly to his paws and backed away, shooting a narrowed-eye glare between enemies and lashing his tail, a few streaks of crimson visible against the soft white patches.

Suddenly a high-pitched yowl of pain echoed behind them. Simultaneously Boots and Neo whipped around, senses seeking its source; their eye widened in horror when they saw Millie being dragged by her scruff, Puddy's teeth embedded dangerously near her throat. The dark tabby tom was hauling her away from her friends, though Millie was not making it easy for him. Her sharp claws flailed in the air, desperately trying to land on fur.

"Let her go!" Robbie cried, eyes round with dismay.

Boots began forward but Neo's tail stopped him. "Don't," the silver tabby warned. "He'll hurt her more if you rush in like that."

"We can't let him blackheart us like this!" Boots spat, body shaking with barely-suppressed rage.

Puddy threw Millie ungracefully onto the grass. She yelped upon landing; Boots finally noticed a heavy streak of crimson running up her shoulder, and his stomach churned. She struggled to rise but Puddy planted a paw on her wounded shoulder, forcing her to the ground even as she clenched her jaw, desperately trying to withhold a screech of pain.

"Leave her alone, you thug," Boots hissed, padding forward with branch-stiff legs.

Puddy's claws unsheathed, digging through Millie's fur. "One wrong move and I'll claw her fur off," he threatened.

"One wrong move and I'll claw _yours_ off, dog breath," Millie growled through clenched teeth.

"Please!" Jess stepped forward, golden eyes wide with fear. "Please, don't hurt her!"

"Or what, pretty face?" Puddy asked mockingly. "You'll step into her place?" Jess had no answer; she was shaking beneath her fur.

"You don't want anything," Boots snarled. "Nothing but bloodshed and fear from the kittypets who don't even know how to fight! If anyone's the coward here, it's you. You sent your goons to fight us—" His tail indicated himself and Neo. "—instead of having the courage to do it yourself. And do you know why you don't fight us?" He tipped his head to one side, as though pondering the question in his head, but he already knew the answer. "Because you _know_ you'll lose."

Puddy's eyes were pools of rage. "You arrogant _worm!_"

"You yellow-bellied coward," Boots countered.

"I second that," Millie added stiffly.

Puddy hissed in her face, then jerked his glare up to meet Boots's. "You've become even more arrogant than the last time we met in battle," he growled.

"Which was...what, _years_ ago?" Boots retorted bitterly. "I've mostly been quarreling with your mouse-hearted excuses of seconds, because after I defeated you—" His eyes flashed to the deep nick in Puddy's ear, a permanent reminder of how sharp Boots's claws and battle skills were. "—you never had the nerve to stand up to me and fight, one to one."

Puddy's eyes gleamed, though with more than interest. "You challenge me now?"

"Just you and me. Come on, mange-whiskers." Boots dropped into a crouch, tail waving back and forth behind him. "Let's see if those claws of yours are still sharp as your stupidity is endless."

Puddy curled his lip. "I'll look forward to tasting your blood again, flea fur." He released Millie and leapt clean over her head, landing with a loud _thump_ on the grass just in front of her. Then he pushed off from the ground in a second pounce, claws extended. For a few moments, Boots froze; he watched those gleaming set of claws draw closer and closer to his head, as though caught in slowed time.

Then instinct kicked in and he sprang backwards. As Puddy landed, Boots countered, jumping and slashing savagely at his head. Puddy howled with rage and twisted away beneath his claws, lashing out with his own. Boots jerked his head sharply to the side to avoid having his eye torn out.

He pushed hard against the ground with his hind legs, pushing him into a leap. It wasn't as high or as graceful as Neo's standing jumps were, but it was high enough to clear Puddy's head. Upon landing, Boots extended his legs and unsheathed all his sets of claws. He crashed down heavily on Puddy's back and dug his claws as hard as he could through fur, reaching right down to the skin. Puddy gasped as his legs crumpled beneath the unexpected weight and all the wind was knocked out of him.

Boots dug his claws even harder into the matted fur on Puddy's flanks and shifted his weight, throwing himself to the ground as well. Only he kept rolling until he was on his back, Puddy on top of him. With all his strength he raked his hind claws down the dark tabby's spine, gripping on tightly with his forepaws as Puddy struggled to get free.

Suddenly Puddy was gone and Boots twisted onto his belly just in time to see a set of claws whirl across his vision. Panic flared through his blood and he jerked his head free of the claws' range, squeezing his eyes shut. Then burning pain seared through his fur, right through his shoulder, and he couldn't resist the agonized yowl that ripped from his throat. He thought he heard Puddy give a hiss of satisfaction.

Anger flared in Boots's soul. _That's what _you_ think, maggot-heart!_

He felt adrenalin pump through his body, chasing away the pain of his clawed shoulder. He opened his eyes and pushed off from the ground with his good legs. Puddy looked surprised for a few moments, as though he hadn't expected him to recover so quickly. Then he recoiled with a high-pitched caterwaul as claws ripped through his whiskers and flea-bitten muzzle. He staggered, whimpering, shaking beads of dark crimson from his nose as Boots uneasily steadied himself, favouring three paws, gingerly setting his fourth on the ground despite the pounding ache in his shoulder.

"I'm warning you," Boots growled through gritted fangs. "Back down, _now_, or I'll finish what I started."

Puddy blinked; beads of blood had entered his eyes, impairing his vision and giving him a rather bloodshot look. For a few moments he contemplated his chances of succeeding in another bout; clearly, the odds were low. He was battered, bruised and exhausted. Despite not being fighters, Robbie and Millie had managed to give him a few nasty-looking scratches to his shoulders and back, and tufts of fur were missing here and there.

"Go on." Boots jerked his chin to the garden fence. "Take your goons and get out of here." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Pitzi and Rusty huddling near one another, licking their wounds, while Neo watched them warily, claws still unsheathed.

For a couple of heartbeats Puddy stood motionless; then, realizing he was outmatched, he turned and fled the garden without even bothering to see if his two seconds were following or not. Upon the retreat of their leader, Pitzi and Rusty jumped to their paws and hurried after him. They scrabbled up the fence with even less grace than Boots, and vanished a split-heartbeat later over the other side.

Then there was peace in the garden, and Boots slowly sank down onto his haunches. The pain returned; his body ached, and his new wounds stung. His forehead cuts were hurting a little as well; he'd suspected that grit had worked its way through the scabs, irritating the slowly-healing layers of new skin beneath.

"Well fought," Robbie mewed across the garden. He was by Millie's side where he had been throughout Puddy's and Boots's fight, and when Boots turned to acknowledge his words, he saw that the orange tabby was tenderly licking Millie's bloodstained shoulder.

Jess raced across the grass to Boots's side. "Are you all right?" Her golden eyes were frantic, filled with renewed fear. "You look...awful!"

"It's nothing," Boots muttered, looking away. He couldn't meet her gaze—inside, he felt that familiar sense of chaos churning within him whenever he was around such a stunning she-cat. Was she really worried for him? Frightened for him?

"If I were you, thicket-fur, I'd lap it up while it lasts," Neo remarked. The silver tabby hobbled up to Boots's side, looking just as battered and tired. "It's not often you get a she-cat padding after you."

Jess blinked, looking confused. "What do you mean? Boots is a good friend," she mewed, "and any cat who denied that has a head full of clouds. But I'm not _padding_ after him."

Boots jerked his head up. "You're...not?" The chaos within him died a little.

"You're a really good friend, Boots." Jess pushed her muzzle affectionately into his cheek. "You're so kind and selfless around me and the other kittypets in Twolegplace...but I'm not looking for a mate." She stepped back, puzzlement and amusement flashing in her eyes. "Why? Did you think I was?"

"I...I wasn't thinking that, no," Boots replied quietly. Suddenly his wounds didn't hurt anymore. He wasn't sure if that was meant to be a good thing.

"Oh, good." Relief danced in Jess's golden eyes and she sat down, curling her tail neatly over her paws. "I was half-afraid that you were." She tipped her head slightly to one side. "I did think you were acting a little odd last time," she commented cheerfully. "I was wondering if you were sane." The words were light-hearted, but Boots felt like they were blows of bitter, _bitter_ disappointment.

_She doesn't like me. Not in the way that I like her._

"Oh, he's sane, all right," Neo inputted, giving Boots a gentle flick with his tailtip. "Sane enough to come charging to your defense at the slightest whim." His mew grew more serious. "It's a good thing Robbie found us so quickly. We were down by the shore when we heard."

"The shore..." Jess's ears flicked forward and she gave a small chirr of delight. "I've always wanted to go to the shore! But I lack the courage to do so on my own." She glanced at Boots. "I remember you said you would take me there with you one day. I'm looking forward to it." She purred.

"Yeah," Boots mumbled quietly. "Yeah, I am. I'll take you there." He forced a small purr, but it sounded choked and fake even to his own ears. "I'll...ah...I'll be at home. Cleaning up." Rising stiffly to his paws, he limped to the garden fence and scrambled up and over, telling himself over and over again not to look back.

**...**

Boots took care to wash every single trace of blood and grime out of his pelt before he entered his garden. He cleansed and cleaned his shoulder scratches until nothing was left but a reminding ache, and he was (to his relief) able to put weight on his paw. When he stepped into his garden, familiar and inviting, he didn't go and curl up under the hedge despite the blazing greenleaf sun overhead. Instead he went inside his Twolegs' den, relieved to hear the distant sounds his housefolk made. They had come back from wherever they had been.

The Eldest Female and Oldest Male were in the kitchen area, only absently throwing him their greeting to him. Boots padded past his food bowl—food was the last thing on his mind—and forced his tired body up the fourteen stairs that separated the ground floor from the Youngest Female's bedroom, and where he desired to go more than anywhere else in Twolegplace. He wanted her company, her attention, her comfortable bed, and he knew she'd be there. If her parents were here, then she had returned from her ride across the shore on those strange longlegs. Had he really seen her pass by on them that very day? That moment felt like years ago...

As he stepped into her room, he paused and mewed to her, informing her that he was there. The Youngest Female turned away from the small, foldable glowing screen she often stared at, and the soft rattling noise that always seemed to accompany it ceased as she lifted her paws from the part of the screen's flat, un-glowing body. She purred a greeting, lowering a paw to stroke his head.

Boots padded into it and felt her warm paw run rhythmically over his body. Then he gently pulled away from her and jumped lightly onto her bed. Some of her removable brightly-coloured furs were lying strewn on her bed. Purring softly, he kneaded there and made himself comfortable. The Youngest Female sat beside him as he settled, gently stroking him and murmuring softly, eyes warm and affectionate behind her black-rimmed window-like clear screens that she always wore when she was awake, perched on her nose like a bird on a branch. Boots didn't really know why she wore it—every one of his housefolk but the Youngest Male wore them in their waking hours—and truthfully, he thought it looked rather silly, and that her eyes appeared bigger when she had them on.

Spending time with his housefolk during the day was something he did rarely, especially in greenleaf—and also because most of the time, the Youngest Female and Male were always away someplace, leaving early in the morning and not returning until the afternoon. What they did all day, wherever they went, he didn't know, but he had learned to recognize when they went out. They always wore a matching set of furs—the Youngest Male in green and turquoise, the Youngest Female in pale and dark blue.

But during the height of greenleaf, both the Youngest Female and Male were around the den much more often, and didn't wear their matching furs. Boots closed his eyes in contentment as he felt the Youngest Female's gentle strokes lull him into a doze, helping him forget his aching shoulder and stinging face cuts.

A part of him almost wished he hadn't slipped into sleep—he had bad dreams. He kept seeing Jess in front of him, a happy, naïve purr in her voice as she cheerfully declared that she didn't love him. It felt so strange; his heart felt so empty. He'd loved her from afar from so long...but knowing that she didn't return that love, it left him...hollow. He felt that way in his dreams, staring at her, wishing her with all his heart that she hadn't said what she'd said...that when he woke, it'd all been in his head.

But the dream didn't quite end there. He saw Puddy, too; the dark tabby jumped on him from the shadows, pinning him to the ground with flint-sharp claws. He had sneered in his face before drawing his paws back, glittering with claws. Boots struggled in vain, then watched as the claws came slicing down into his eyes...and just before they struck, they morphed into a pair of gleaming talons, and Puddy's eyes became rounder and rounder until they were black and luminous as the moon, and his bloodstained muzzle became a curved, sharp beak; a shrill, angered hoot burst from him as the ruru struck his throat...

Boots jolted awake with a small, shocked gasp, his nose and pads damp with sweat. The ruru's enraged shriek echoed in his mind for a few more heartbeats, until it finally faded into a pounding silence that thrummed just as loudly in his ears.

For a few long moments, he stayed completely still as his senses finally alerted him of his surroundings. It was nearly evening. The Youngest Female was still sitting at her desk, gazing at her screen and making that rhythmic tapping noise with her paws again. A fiery sunset fell over Twolegplace, dancing over the sea. He could see it clearly from the highest room in the den, as well as the sweeping black sand that divided earth from ocean.

Boots sighed and slowly shook his head, removing the sleep from his ears. This wasn't his first dream about Jess; truthfully, they used to always be about her whenever he had one—which wasn't often—but this was the first dream of the dreadful revealed truth that tugged so bitterly at his heart. Having a nightmare about Puddy ripping his muzzle...well, in his earlier years, he'd had nightmares about the aggressive dark brown tabby tom, but it'd been many long moons since last Boots had seen him prowl his dreams. But the ruru...this was the second nightmare he'd had about it in the week since he'd caught it...why did he keep dreaming of it?

In a flash, Boots remembered his talk with Neo by the shore—the legend that Neo had told him. He could almost hear him repeating the story in his ear.

_There is this great unseen power that lives in the hearts of all cats who were not kitted beneath Twoleg influence, who were born with the wind in their fur and the grass at their paws—and that sometimes, the great power rises from their soul and calls to them. When the wilderness calls, one must heed the cry and follow its song until it ends..._

Boots felt a chill race up the length of his spine. He'd dreamed of the ruru, again; surely that couldn't be coincidence. For a moment—for a _brief_ moment—he wondered if it was possible, however impossible it was, that Neo's story was...true.

_And what do I do if it is?_ Boots felt a shudder shake his entire body, jarring his stiffened, sore shoulder. _What if there is such a thing as a call of the wild, and it's calling me?_ He dug his claws into the Youngest Female's furs under him. _I don't want to leave Twolegplace..._

_...do I?_

He could feel the hollowness deep inside his heart, that unshakable disappointment flowing in his mind. Jess hadn't even begun to fathom how much she meant to him—and she'd happily declined any greater feelings for him than the bonds of friendship she so carefully nurtured with everyone around her. _I'm really no different than Robbie or Neo or Millie to her. I'm just another of her friends, someone to talk to, someone to do favours for her, someone to protect her..._

Boots squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his muzzle into the folds of the Youngest Female's furs. The bitterness throbbed inside him—strangely, not at himself, but at Jess. How could he have been so gull-brained?

Neo's words haunted his thoughts. _The wilderness is calling to you, and it would be wise to answer it._

Boots looked up, looked out of the window. The sunset was starting to die down, but not before throwing incredible bloodred streaks across the amber sky, forming scarlet ripples over the sea that spanned beneath. The shadows were growing long, the stars were waking up; twilight was setting in. The small amount of time between dusk and full night was always his favourite time, when his senses were the most alert, when the forest was starting to stir, its nocturnal life beginning to awaken.

Suddenly, in his mind, he saw it—outlined against the darkness, a lithe-bodied cat with bluish-grey fur and white tabby markings, amber eyes like fire blazing at him in the night. Challenging him. In awe of him. A wildcat thought a myth, a basket story for kits...

_Only one, such as yourself, who hadn't heard the legend of the wilderness's call wouldn't realize that your journey involves the wildcat somehow. Perhaps that is where you start._

"Boots!"

Neo's voice, very much real and nearby, suddenly penetrated Boots's thoughts. He glanced towards the doorway into the Youngest Female's bedroom to see the slender silver tabby hovering there, hazel eyes bright with relief. "You had all of us so worried when you just vanished the way you did!" he mewed, rather crossly. "After I cleaned up and made sure that Puddy and his lot of rat-furred loyalists had gone from Jess's garden for good, I searched all over for you. I was even considering going to the forest and looking for you there!"

Boots wordlessly jumped down from the bed. He thought he heard the Youngest Female give a small disappointed chirrup behind him, before she turned her attention back to her tapping and bright screen.

"Well?" asked Neo, the tip of his tail twitching. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Boots drew breath, his mind made up. "I'm going out."

Neo blinked, baffled. "Wh-what? Now? But it's night."

"I know. I'm going back to the forest."

Now the silver tabby was _really_ baffled. "What in the name of the black-sanded shore do you want to go to the forest for?" he demanded. "Especially now—you're planning to catch another ruru, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not. I'm not even planning to hunt there." Boots padded past Neo and began to make his way down the stairs.

Neo fell into swift step beside him. "Okay, you've officially confused me. Stop pulling my tail and tell me what's going on."

"I want to find that wildcat." The blue-and-white nameless cat flashed in his mind as he spoke. "I want to find out why it haunts me. Why that ruru I caught haunts me as well. I think the only way I can find it is to go back to the clearing where I caught it."

Neo frowned. "That sounds gull-brained to me."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Maybe not." A strange light flared in Neo's eyes. "Maybe it's something else. Maybe it's the call."

Boots, uncomfortable, didn't answer. He descended the last of the stairs and turned into the kitchen, Neo right behind him.

"So you believe it?"

Boots sighed through his whiskers. "I don't know, Neo. I don't know if I can believe such a...far-fetched nursery story." He turned around before Neo could retort. "That's just the way I am, Neo. I don't believe in stories or legends. Not like you do. Maybe I won't, ever. But what I do know is that ever since I caught that ruru in the forest, and met the wildcat who jumped out at me there, I haven't had a restful night." His voice sharpened in frustration. "They haunt my dreams—and yes, I've been dreaming more in the past week than I have in the past moon. I want to find out why. Is there more of them out there? Are they watching me, following me somehow?" He sighed. "I don't know—and while I don't know, I feel empty and without purpose here."

Understanding flashed for a moment in Neo's eyes. "Hence why you haven't been yourself lately."

"I don't think I'll ever be myself again." Boots gave a small sigh, turning his gaze to the open kitchen window, to the darkening sky and brightening stars beyond. "There's something strange in that forest, Neo. Something that we've been missing for a long, long time. Something that...something that's calling me back there. I think I've stumbled into something I shouldn't have put my paws in the first place. I did something I shouldn't have done. That ruru shouldn't have died. Why else would it attack me so viciously in my dreams, eyes ablaze with fury?"

Neo, for once, had nothing to say.

"I've got to return to the forest, Neo." Boots flicked his tail. "That clearing holds answers. I _know_ it does." He glanced back at his housemate. "Don't wait up for me. I'll be back at dawn. Look after the Youngest Female..."

"Certainly not," Neo growled, lashing his tail. "Do you honestly think that I'm going to let you go wandering around in the forest alone—after what happened last time?" He tapped meaningfully beneath his right ear with his forepaw.

Boots glared at him. "As I said, I'm not going hunting."

"And as I said, I'm coming with you." Neo squared his paws. "And if you were a clever tom—which I know you are, old friend—then you wouldn't bother arguing with me. You know full well that I'm more stubborn than I've ever been."

Hazel eyes met amber, until Boots ducked his head, defeated. Neo gave a small, self-satisfied purr and rubbed his nose along Boots's cheek.

"Stop pretending to be disappointed, bush-tail. I know you'll be glad of my company."

"Aren't I always?" Boots muttered as Neo stepped back, his whiskers twitching. He turned his nose towards the kitchen window. "Now come on, let's get out of here."

He was perhaps halfway to the windowsill when he suddenly heard Neo exclaim, "Wait a moment."

Boots glanced back impatiently. "What?" He was itching to get on the hidden trail to the forest.

"That ruru's feather." Neo twitched his ear. "You brought it back from the ruru's body." He blinked, his eyes slowly brightening. "I wonder..."

"Wonder what?" asked Boots shortly.

"Nothing." Neo shook his head absently. "But...you know what, Boots? You'd be doing me a personal favour if you bring that ruru feather with you, tucked in your collar or something."

"Are you mad? That's my only evidence I have that I killed the dratted thing."

"Call me superstitious, but I think if you take the feather with you, a lot of things are going to be made clear." Neo's tailtip flicked. "Since you came back with that feather, you've been dreaming of the ruru's angry soul. Put the feather back where it fell, and I'm willing to bet my whiskers that the nightmares will stop."

Boots glared at him. "You're sounding fanatical again..."

"For furballs' sakes, Boots, don't tempt me to argue. Bring the fuzz'd feather."

Boots didn't tempt him to argue.

When two dark shapes jumped out of the kitchen window and vanished into the night, in the strangely-bright light that flooded from the Twolegs' den, a single brown spotted feather could be seen tucked into the larger, fluffier shape's collar, right against his dark-furred throat.


End file.
